Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN EVENING WALK AT CROMER, 1795, by AMELIA OPIE


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AN EVENING WALK AT CROMER, 1795, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hail scene sublime! Along the eastern hills
Last Line: In utterance fail, and silence I am thine.
Alternate Author Name(s): Alderson, Amelia
Subject(s): Night; Walking; Bedtime


Hail scene sublime! along the Eastern hills
Night draws her veil, and lo! the circling lamp
That guides the vessel thro' the ambush'd rocks,
Hangs in bright contrast on her dusky brow,
And smiles away its gloom.—See from the West,
A branching stream of silver radiance flows
On Ocean's bosom, till it emulates
The trembling lustre of the milky way;
While the dark cliffs projecting o'er the waves,
And frowning, (Fancy whispers) envious seem
Of the soft light they share not. In the South,
The star of evening sheds her pallid rays;
While from the humble cottages that skirt
You hill's uneven side, lights redly shine
Contrasting Art with Nature, and fill up
The chain of objects that leads captive sight,
And to the shrine of meditation draws
The wanderer's soul.—But hark! the awaken'd Owl
Majestic, slow, on sounding wing sails by,
And, rous'd to active life, enjoys the hour
That gives his winking eyelids leave to rest,
While his bright eye, dim in day's dazzling light
Now into distance shoots its beams, and guides
The unwieldy spoiler to his creeping prey,
Which having seiz'd, again on murmuring wing
He cleaves the tranquil air, and to his nest
Proudly bears home the feast, he toil'd to gain;
Then from the bosom of some thick-wove tree
Breathes in dull note his votive strain to Night,
Friend of his daring, season of his joy.

Here could I stay, now list'ning, gazing now,
Till all that crowded, busy, life can give
Sunk from my view, lost in the splendid vast
Of Nature's pure magnificence, that still
Will shine and charm for ages. FASHION'S hand
Which, in the world's gay scenes omnipotent,
Makes, and destroys, and the same object bids
Delight one moment, and disgust the next,
Here can no influence boast; but here true TASTE
To FASHION rarely known, enamour'd roves
And rapt, becomes DEVOTION, while the tear
Steals the flush'd cheek adown, as on the rose
Glitters the dew-drop. Hail again, bright scene!
On the moist gale of Eve shall I breathe forth
The song of praise to thee, responsive still
To Ocean's solemn roar? or shall I stand
In SACRED SILENCE bound, Devotion's friend,
And list'ning, let my eager ear drink in
The distant, mingling sounds that Fancy loves,
'Till every thought's thanksgiving, and the lips
Can only murmur praise? And lo! my lips
In utterance fail, and SILENCE I am thine.





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