II.

TWILIGHT.

Up velvet lawns of lilac skies The tawny moon begins to rise Behind low blue-black hills of trees, As rises from faint Siren seas, To rock in purple deeps, hip-hid, A virgin-bosom'd Oceanid. Gaunt shadows crouch by rock and wood, Like hairy Satyrs, grim and rude, Till the white Dryads of the moon Come noiseless in their silver shoon To beautify them with their love. The sweet, sad notes I hear, I hear, Beyond dim pines and mellow hills, Of some fair maiden harvester, The lovely Limnad of the grove Whose singing charms me while it kills:

"O deep! O deep! the twilight rare Pales on to sleep; And fair, so fair! fades the rich air. The fountain shines in its ferny lair, Where the cold Nymph sits in her oozy hair To weep, to weep, For a mortal youth who is not there."

GOING FOR THE COWS.