WHEN TWILIGHT COMES.
When twilight comes and nature stills
The hum that haunts the dales and hills,
Dim shadows deepen and combine,
And Heaven with its crystal wine
The cups of thirsty roses fills.
Blithe birds with music-burdened bills
Hush for a space their tender trills,
And seek their homes in tree or vine
When twilight comes.
Soft melody the silence thrills,
Played by the nymphs along the rills;
And where the dew-kist grasses twine,
The toads and crickets tatoo fine
Drums to the fife of whip-poor-wills,
When twilight comes.
Frank Dempster Sherman.
COME, PAN, AND PIPE.
Come, Pan, and pipe upon the reed,
And make the mellow music bleed,
As once it did in days of yore,
Along the brook's leaf-tangled shore,
Through sylvan shade and fragrant mead.
On Hybla honey come and feed,—
To tempt the Fauns in dance to lead
The Dryads on the mossy floor,—
Come, Pan, and pipe!
To-day the ghosts,—Gold, Gain, and Greed,
The world pursues with savage speed:
Forgotten is your magic lore.
Oh, bring it back to us once more!
For simple, rustic song we plead:
Come, Pan, and pipe!