Now was the time to see the lake. The July moon was near its full, and
night after night it rose in a cloudless sky above this majestic sea.
The heat was excessive, so that there was no enjoyment of life, except
in the night, but then the air was of that delicious temperature, worthy
of orange groves. However, they were not wanted;--nothing was, as that
full light fell on the faintly rippling waters which then seemed
boundless.

A poem received shortly after, from a friend in Massachusetts, seemed to
say that the July moon shone there not less splendid, and may claim
insertion here.

TRIFORMIS.

So pure her forehead's dazzling white,
So swift and clear her radiant eyes,
Within the treasure of whose light
Lay undeveloped destinies,--
Of thoughts repressed such hidden store
Was hinted by each flitting smile,
I could but wonder and adore,
Far off, in awe, I gazed the while.

I gazed at her, as at the moon,
Hanging in lustrous twilight skies,
Whose virgin crescent, sinking soon,
Peeps through the leaves before it flies.
Untouched Diana, flitting dim,
While sings the wood its evening hymn.