OCTOBER TWILIGHT.

The sound just struggles up the steep ascent,
Then drones off in the distance. Nearer still,
A rifle's rattling charge starts up the echoes,
That flutter like scared birds, and pause awhile
As on suspended wings, ere sinking slow
To their low nests. I can distinguish now
The laborer returning from his toil,

With shouldered spade, and weary, laggard foot;
The cattle straying down the dusty road;
The sportsman balancing his idle gun,
Whistling a light refrain, while close beside

His hound, with trailing ears, and muzzle dropt,
Follows some winding scent. From the gray east,
Twilight, upglancing with dim fearful eyes,

Warns me away.

69

The dusk sits like a bird Up in the tree-tops, and swart, elvish shadows Dart from the wooded pathways. Wraith of day! Through thy transparent robes the stars are plain; Along those swelling mounds, that look like graves, Where flowers grow thick in June, thy step falls

soft

As the dropt leaves; amid the faded brakes

The wind, retreating, hides, and cowering there,

Whines at thy coming like a hound afraid.

MAY.

QUEEN MAB.

QUEEN MAB and all her company

Dance on a pleasant mole-hill high,

To small straw pipes, wherein great pleasure
They take, and keep time, just time and measure:

All hand in hand, around, around,

They dance upon the fairy-ground;

And when she leaves her dancing hall,

She doth for her attendants call,

To wait upon her to a bower,

Where she doth sit under a flower,

To shade her from the moonshine bright,
Where gnats do sing for her delight;
The whilst the bat doth fly about,

To keep in order all the rout.

A dewy waving leaf's made fit

For the queen's bath, where she doth sit,
And her white limbs in beauty show,

Like a new-fallen flake of snow;

HER DWELLING.

Her maids do put her garments on,
Made of the pure light from the sun,

Which do so many colors take,

As various objects shadows make.

DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE.

71

HER DWELLING.

I DWELL in groves that gilt are with the sun;

Sit on the banks by which clear waters run;
In summer's heat down in a shade I lie;
My music is the buzzing of a fly;

I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass;
In fields, where corn is high, I often pass;
Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see,
Some brushy woods, and some all champaigns be;
Returning back I in fresh pastures go,

To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low;
In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on,
Then I do live in a small house alone;
Although 'tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within,
Like to a soul that's pure and clear from sin;
And there I dwell in quiet and still peace,
Not filled with cares how riches to increase;