172 THE EVENING HOUR. 



bless the King and the Royal Family entirely. Dennis Dono- 

 van, Lieutenant, R. N.; and son of Widow Donovan, who 

 lives at 1050, Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in 

 Europe.'* 



THE EVENING HOUR. 



It was the sweetest — stillest hour 



Of Autumn's golden eventide : 

 No rude wind touched the closing flowers : 



No ripple murmured on the tide. 



All things were sleeping — and the blush 

 Of beauty glowed on earth and sky ; 



The glen sent up its last sweet gush ; 

 The zephyr's wing was resting nigh. 



And Evening looked in love below 



O'er hill and valley — dale and sea 

 One lone star on her quiet brow 



Flung out a small, still radiancy. 



Nature slept on — each winding stream 



Forgot its daylight song awhile. 

 The field flowers closed their eyes to dream ; 



The bending daisy veiled its smile. 



Night rose ! The waveless lake expressed, 



In softer glory, every gem 

 That sparkled on her sombre vest 



Or quivered in her diadem. 



Still all lay hushed— Still Nature slept 

 Like one beyond the reach of woes : 



For very depth of joy I wept. 

 While gazing on such sweet repose. 



Who would not flee his daily thrall 



And yield to such benignant sway 

 As man, the boasted lord of all. 



Can neither give nor take away, 



E. B. 



