AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE
GLOAMING IN MEGGAT.
Soft shadows of. the gloaming now are falling, Sweet is the hour and still; The lonely curlew through, the dusk id calling Under the purple hill.
And dewy-tasselled stately firs are breathing Incense at eventide; While fleecy mist a tender shroud id wreathing O’er hill and mountain ©ide.
Ambrosial Autumn in a crown of glory, Adown the valley strays; With golden footfall whispering the story Of swiftly dying days.
From out a thorn a mavis sings divinely A cadence of farewell; The browning brackens droop their fronds supinely By mountain, moor, and fell.
Broad meadows once so rich with scented clover Still memories beqoeath; They mourn the short-lived Summer that is over, And dying, fragrance breathe.
Far, far away the white-robed planet Hesper Follows the vanished sun; In mellow strains the music of the vesper Tells that the day is don®.
Beyond the hills, remote, arising slowly The lady moon has birth And through the night, serene, and calm, and holy, Sleepeth the tired earth. —W. Cuthbertson, in the "Scotsman/.*
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZMAIL19030114.2.26
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Mail, Issue 1611, 14 January 1903, Page 12
Word Count
179AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE New Zealand Mail, Issue 1611, 14 January 1903, Page 12
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