Part 3 (1/2)

While from thy sh.o.r.e a lithe canoe Shoots o'er thy bosom fair, Leaving behind a milk-white view As when the beaver paddled thru Thy waters unaware.

Up rides the moon with rosy rim All silently and still, Chasing away the shadows dim That on thy surface seem to swim Like wood nymphs from the hill.

Now midnight comes, and on thy sh.o.r.e No boatman plies his way, The cottage lights s.h.i.+ne forth no more From window-pane or open door Where yet thy shadows play.

Silent and strangely still is all; The stars like candles are, No echoes on the forest fall,-- Each lonely owl hath ceas'd to call His wood-mate from afar.

Silent and calmly still is all; Dim Night is monarch now, His kingdom is the midnight air, The forests his attendants fair, Who, at his bidding, bow--

And stand like sentinels asleep Beneath the moon's wan beam, Until Aurora fair doth creep Above the hill where she doth keep Bright morn with welcome gleam.

An Inquiry

Speak, O speak, my angel fair, Is there sadness everywhere-- Folly where the flower feedeth Rapids where the river leadeth To delight?

Is there, is there anything An eternal joy can bring-- What is real and what but seemeth Like a dream a dreamer dreameth Thru the night?

Can there be, Angel of Love Can there be bright homes above-- What is Life--and when it endeth What is Death--why it descendeth I implore?

Tell me, Angel, can it be That thy hand is leading me-- Tell me, are these seraphs singing Up in heaven, gladness bringing Evermore?

Twin Lake

In the Wayne Highlands

The shadows fall on Twin Lake fair As crimson sets the Autumn sun; A holy hush is on the air Of eventide and day is done.

No zephyrs kiss the little lake; So still and calm is either sh.o.r.e, That on her face dim shadows wake And deepen ever more and more.

And where the long-leaf laurels grow A cuckoo sounds the hour of rest, And fondly answering far below Its mate is calling from her nest.

Now comes the twilight, calm and still, And, with a cloak of sable hue, Half hides the lake and upland hill That faint and fainter fades from view.

And through the broken web of night Each stalwart star with even ray Reflects upon the lake a light To guide a boatman on his way.

And soon the ma.s.sive moon doth ride Athwart the pine trees' heavy shade, That doth her fiery chariot hide, As an apparent halt is made.

And sweetly from a maiden fair In yon canoe that skirts the sh.o.r.e A laugh rings out upon the air And echoes softly o'er and o'er

Till dying on the distant hill, An evening silence settles far,-- A quietness, so calm, so still, With rising moon and silent star--

That peace, sweet peace subdues the soul, While on the clear and pensive air The bells of Como softly toll The ever-sacred hour of prayer.