TWILIGHT ON “TORCH HILL.”

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TWILIGHT ON "TORCH HILL."

It is eve at our eyrie; the river

Falls dim in its tremulous gaze;
There's a mantle of mist and the quiver
Of stars through the violet haze.

Soft twilight! the far silent city

Sleeps, veiled in the valley beneath,
Eclipsed by the flash of this pretty

Bright "ruby-throat''* here on his wreath.

Shall I try, ere the daylight is over,
So high from its dust and its din,
How much of a "town" I can cover
With the leaf of a jessamine?

All the life and the light of the city
Shall I daintily hide from my sight,
With its sorrow that weeps, and the pity
That walks with the angels to-night?

Sweet mercies that shadow me!

Never!

Lest the soul in my body should die,
Ere the sparkle fades out of the river,
Or the light from the violet sky.

*The ruby-throated humming-bird, avant-courier of the stars.

"DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME?"

"The world is not all so dark

But a smile can make it sweet."

TENNYSON,

A QUESTION that betrays
The answer ere it come,
For that "I miss" conveys
That I am missed at home.

For so the world is full

Of call that answers call,
Along the wires that pull

Both ways or not at all.

AMONG THE BIRDS.

81

AMONG THE BIRDS.

WE built a nest among the birds
Now many Mays ago;

And we have heard a many a word
That sang, by building so.

And times when dew is on the day,
And starlight in the trees,

We meet and warn the mists away
With little lays like these:

A birdie tells of dimpled dells
That blushed in far-off springs;
And many an April blooms and thrills
With rapture while she sings.

A birdie coos of light and shade
The summers brought our nest,
Of violets born, and lilies laid
Where lilies love to rest.

A birdie carols: Day's decline
Restores the dawn's caress;
And autumn pours a richer wine
Than April's tenderness.

A birdie says: The bitter days

May blow till they expire ;

The winds but raise our censer blaze
And waft its incense higher!

The birdies sing: The bright shells bring

No song from all the sea;

The close cheek and the clasping hand
Make life's whole melody.

"IN MAMRE."

Do you ever think when your

Eden-tree

Is flourishing wide and green,

With friendships thicker than fruits of gold,
And love with its flowers between,
How many beautiful souls may be

That your soul hath never seen?

And how much "loving" your heart could hold
Were the blossoms silver, the apples gold,
And your heart an evergreen?

In a world so wide there are nooks to hide,
And shadows to veil the sweet;

And there are the wise with unseeing eyes,
And the swift with unheeding feet.
Happier we, were our Eden-tree

A tent in the desert's heat,

Who hold that the very angel who spoke

ID YL.

To Abraham, under the Mamre oak,
May be the next we meet !

'Tis a pleasant thought at the eventide,

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When a glory looks down on our prayers, That we have not mocked in the days of our pride The meanest pilgrim whose dust may hide

An "angel unawares !"

And a beautiful hope, as the night unrolls
Her raiment of rest serene,

That we are nearer the beautiful souls
That our souls have never seen.

IDYL.

(TO M. N. T.)

I.

A VISION which I had of late,
By the orchard's lattice gate,
Let this simple song relate!

Vision of a little girl,

With a cheek of peach and pearl,
And the promise of a curl !

Daintily in white arrayed,

Borne by Ethiopian maid,

Blending well with light and shade.