IS the "leafy month of June,"
And the pale and placid moon,
In the east her cresset rearing,
Tells that summer's eve is wearing;—

But the sun is lingering still

O'er the old, accustomed hill,
And condenses all his rays

In one broad, attempered blaze,—

Twilight's shadows deepening 'round him,
Like a king when foes surround him,
Gathering, since he scorns to fly,
Life's last energies to die!

See the parting god of day
Leaves a trail upon his way,-
Like the memory of the dead
When the sainted soul is fled,—

And it chequers all the skies.

With its bright, innumerous dyes.

Waves of clouds, all rich and glowing,

Each into the other flowing,

Pierced by many a crimson streak,

Like the blush on Beauty's cheek;

Here and there, dark purple tinges
Peering through their saffron fringes,
(Amethysts of price untold

Set in shrines of virgin gold),

And, anon, a dewy star,

Twinkling from blue depths afar,

---

23

EVENING.

Bright as Woman's tearful eye

When she weeps, she scarce knows why!

Not a sound disturbs the hush

Save the mountain-torrent's gush,

As it struggles, with a bound,

From the depth of shades profound;

Now through tangled brushwood straying
Now o'er velvet moss delaying,

Lapsing now in parted streams,

Like a youthful poet's dreams,
And, anon, their haven won,
Gently gliding into one!

Cooling breezes bathe the brow
With delicious fragrance now;
Incense sweet from many a bower;
Odours from each closing flower;

Swell upon the rising gale,

On the charmed sense prevail,

Till the pulse forgets to move,

And the soul is "drunk with love!"

ALARIC A. WATTS.

EVENING.

JHE sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting past in the grey air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,

And evening's breath, wandering here and there

Over the quivering surface of the stream,

Wakes not one ripple from its silent dream.

There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;

And in the inconstant motion of the breeze
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.

The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut
By darkest barriers of enormous cloud,
Like mountain over mountain huddled-but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd,

And over it a space of watery blue,

Which the keen evening star is shining through.

SHELLEY.

EVENING.

T was a rich, bright, tranquil summer's eve;
The sun was resting on the horizon's verge;
The distant mountains, wearing crowns of gold,
Like vassal kings, arose to guard his throne;
And every object there appeared to grow
Instinct with softer beauty. On the gale,
Through the half-open lattice, came the breath,
The honied breath, of many a fragrant flower,
Closing its sweet eyes on day's farewell beam.

ALARIC A. WATTS.