Peculiar graces:
At noonday she grows languid, and then steals
To shady places,
And revels in their coolness, at her feet
A stream, that fills with music her retreat.

At eve she comes, and, blushing like a maid,
Unrobes in shadows,
Bathes in the lake, and wanders through the glade
And o'er the meadows.
From her dank locks, wherever she doth pass,
The diamond dew-drops dripping to the grass.

And then she sleeps; when o'er the lake's calm tide
The Moon comes stealing,
And draws from her the veil of night aside,
Her charms revealing,
While silent stars keep ceaseless watch above,
And all the earth breathes peace and rest and love.




THE RACE.


A girlish voice like a silver bell
Rang over the sparkling tide,
"A race! a race!"
She was under the trees by the river-side,