Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2237/At Sunset

, when autumn days are done And all the winds at rest, To sit and watch the happy sun Go out into the west; To let my idle fancy stray Across the waters' golden way;

To follow, follow, follow on    Until the gleaming land Has sunk beneath the waves and gone Like castles on the sand; To follow till I gain at last The charmèd country of the past.

There in the glamor of romance, By forest, plain, and hill, With crested helm and glittering lance The knights are riding still, And many a hoary castle wall Echoes at eve their bugle-call.

There cruise the bearded buccaneers Who swept the Spanish main; There gather to the feast of Spears The ravens of the Dane, And to the shining summer skies The old sea-rovers' war-songs rise.

And there are low soft melodies About the shadowy shore, Where the stars tremble on the seas Beneath the silent oar; Music of lutes and serenade, Sweet songs by happy lovers made.

There, clash of steel on steel, and shout Of battle wildly ring; Granada's Moors are riding out To meet the Christian king, And all the chivalry of Spain Is fighting for the cross again.

There by the glancing river's side, Out through the morning mists, Gay lords and ladies laughing ride With hawks upon their wrists; The soft winds bear across the fells The music of their silver bells.

There, stretched the drowsy pines among, The Lotos-eaters be; There still the sirens' fatal song Is sweet upon the sea, And through the woodland and the stream, The nymphs and naiads glide and gleam.

The golden glow falls pale and dim Far in the western sky, Where on the water's utmost rim The ships go sailing by. That fair world fades away once more And leaves me lonely by the shore.