They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullein's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rocked about in the evening breeze;

Some from the humbird's downy nest

They had driven him out by elfin power,

And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,

Had slumbered there till the charmèd hour;

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid ;

And some had opened the four-o'clock,
And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade,
Above - below-on every side,
Their little minim forms arrayed,
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride.

- Joseph Rodman Drake.

FIREFLIES.

O-NIGHT I watch the fireflies rise,

TON

And shine along the air;

They float beneath the starry skies,
As mystical and fair,

Over the hedge where dimly glows
The deep gold of the Persian rose.

I watch the fireflies drift and float;
Each in a dreamy flame,
Star-colored each, a starry mote,
Like stars not all the same;

But whiter some, or faintly green,
Or warmest blue was ever seen.

They cross and cross and disappear,
And then again they glow;

Still drifting faintly there and here,
Still crossing to and fro,

As though in all their wandering
They wove a wide and shining thing.

Agnes Mary Robinson.

A soft golden head presses close to my heart,
And darkly fringed eyelids just drowsily part.
O hushaby, little one, sleep!

The tiny star candles are lighting the way
For birdies and elves that to Sleepy Town stray.

But my baby's stars are his mother's brown eyes, That love-light his path as to dreamland he hies. O hushaby, little one, sleep!

The silver moon-baby sinks low in the west,
The chirping is hushed in the little brown nest,
And, swinging and swaying, with eyes closing fast,
My little one crosses the border at last.

O hush thee, my little one sleeps!

- Pauline Frances Camp.

GOOD-NIGHT.

HE sun has sunk behind the hills,
The

TH

The shadows o'er the landscape creep;

A drowsy sound the woodland fills,
And nature folds her arms to sleep:
Good-night-good-night.

The chattering jay has ceased his din
The noisy robin sings no more
The crow, his mountain haunt within,
Dreams 'mid the forest's surly roar :
Good-night-good-night.

The sunlit cloud floats dim and pale;
The dew is falling soft and still;

The mist hangs trembling o'er the vale,
And silence broods o'er yonder mill:
Good-night-good-night.

The rose, so ruddy in the light,
Bends on its stem all rayless now,

And by its side the lily white,
A sister shadow, seems to bow :
Good-night-good-night.

The bat may wheel on silent wing -
The fox his guilty vigils keep —
The boding owl his dirges sing;
But love and innocence will sleep:
Good-night-good-night!

TH

On the mist, which, like a tide

Of some enchanted ocean,

O'er the wide marsh doth glide, Spreading its ghost-like billows Silently far and wide.

A vague and starry magic
Makes all things mysteries,

And lures the earth's dumb spirit
Up to the longing skies, -
I seem to hear dim whispers,
And tremulous replies.

The fireflies o'er the meadow
In pulses come and go;
The elm-trees' heavy shadow
Weighs on the grass below;
And faintly from the distance

The dreaming cock doth crow.

All things look strange and mystic,
The very bushes swell,

And take wild shapes and motions,
As if beneath a spell,

They seem not the same lilacs

From childhood known so well.