"At tranquil eve is proper time for prayer,
When winds are fair,
And gracious shadows 'mong the myrtles move.
The list'ning eve it was ordained for prayer.

By the soft murmur of thy cooing dove
Teach me to love;
Grant that thy starry front fill my death's night
With joyful light;
And hushed as on this bank the violet's close
Be my repose.

Abide Love, Happiness, and Peace till shining morn
From the same birth that gave the past be borne."

Bertram:

"Fair are these hillside haunts at even calm,
And sweet the fragrance of each flowery spray.
Dew of the Spirit, fall in heavenly balm
Upon my slumbers; bounteous Lord, I pray,
Like one who sang thy praise in other way,
Bless Thou the wicked, for the Good, I know,
Are blessed already, blessed they come and go."




CHAPTER XIII.