III.

What is there in the moon, that swims A naked bosom o'er the limbs, That all the wood with magic dims? While still, while still, Among the trees whose shadows grope 'Mid ferns and flow'rs the dew-drops ope,-- Lost in faint deeps of heliotrope Above the clover-scented slope,-- Retreats, despairing past all hope, The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill.

FOOTNOTE:

[52] By permission of the author, and publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, N. Y.

DIXIE.