453. To the Evening Star

Thomas Campbell (1777—1844)

  STAR that bringest home the bee,

  And sett’st the weary labourer free!

  If any star shed peace, ’tis Thou

  That send’st it from above.

  Appearing when Heaven’s breath and brow

  Are sweet as hers we love.

  Come to the luxuriant skies,

  Whilst the landscape’s odours rise,

  Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard

  And songs when toil is done,

  From cottages whose smoke unstirr’d

  Curls yellow in the sun.

  Star of love’s soft interviews,

  Parted lovers on thee muse;

  Their remembrancer in Heaven

  Of thrilling vows thou art,

  Too delicious to be riven

  By absence from the heart.