Good-by, sweet day, good-by! Thy glow and charm, thy smiles and tones and glances, Ah, couldst thou yet a little longer stay! Good-by, sweet day, good-by! All thy rich gifts my grateful heart remembers, The while I watch thy sunset's smoldering embers Die in the west beneath the twilight gray. Good-by, sweet day! - Celia Thaxter. THE WHIPPOORWILL. HE western sky blazed through the trees, Low fields of clover to the breeze Gave out a fragrant monotone; While sharp-voiced, whirring things beyond And discords of the hidden pond Pulsed like an anthem, deep and rare. Yet all the twilight range seemed still, The tumult was so subtle-sweet; When forth it burst, clear, slow, complete, 'Whip-poor-will!" The yarrow, crowding by the hedge, Stirred not its specked, uncertain white; The locust on the upland's edge Stood tranced against the blaze of light; For now the throbbing air was mute, So tender, dominant, and true. When suddenly, across the hill,— Long, low, and sweet, with dreamy fall, Elate, and with a human thrill, — Came the far answer: From "Along The Way," Copyright, 1879, by Mary Mapes Dodge. THE KING OF THE NIGHT. N the hollow tree, in the old gray tower, In the spectra tovi doth dwell Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour, Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him,- But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then is the reign of the horned owl! And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold, And loveth the wood's deep gloom; And with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold She awaiteth her ghastly groom ; Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings, But when bar bear bearer is fulging She hoots out be weirum: strik. Oh, when the mic sites, and dogs as bowl, Mourn not for the, wi, nor his gloomy plight! If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight. Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate; Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate So when the night falls, and dogs do howl, Who are kings of day; But the king of the night is the bold, brown owl! TWILIGHT AT SEA. THE twilight hours, like birds, flew by, As lightly and as free ; Ten thousand stars were in the sky, For every wave, with dimpled face, That leaped upon the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there. -Amelia B. Welby. DOVER BEACH. `HE sea is calm to-night. ΤΗ The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; -on the French coast the light Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd sand, Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, - Matthew Arnold. THE GATHERING OF THE FAIRIES. IS the middle watch of a summer's night 'TIS The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light, on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cro'nest; She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And through their clustering branches dark Like starry twinkles that momently break The stars are on the moving stream, And naught is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katydid, And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill, Who mourns unseen, and ceaseless sings Ever a note of wail and woe, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow. 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry; Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell) – "Midnight comes, and all is well! Hither, hither, wing your way! 'Tis the dawn of the fairy day." |