II.

The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like spiral line below; The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, And nought is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged Katy-did; And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow.