50 Idylls of the Field. 



fuls of coins found from time to time among the earth- 

 works on its summit, the rusted arms of Dane and 

 Saxon turned up among the rich black earth of the 

 meadows at its foot, are clearer evidence that the 

 Eagle and the Raven folded here for a space their 

 conquering wings. 



Here round the ancient tower the rooks find safe 

 asylum. As the sun sinks in the west, the black- 

 coated citizens gather in the tree-tops, and talk in 

 hushed and solemn tones, as if the clamour of the day- 

 light were a thing to be forgotten. 



Through the western windows of the church the 

 light of sunset falls like a glory round the kneeling 

 figure of a long-forgotten cavalier. 



There, week by week, the sounds of that labour 

 that knows no day of rest are heard in the pauses of 

 the hymn ; while at times, above the Babel in the tree- 

 tops, rises the loud twitter of a nuthatch or the shrill 

 cry of a restless starling. 



The sun is down. The far-off hills are growing cold 

 and dark ; the silver of the sea is changing into sullen 

 gray ; the mist that rises from the marsh-land gathers 

 round the hill like the waters of a silent sea. 



Suddenly, from his retreat in a hollow elm near by, 

 flies out an owl, and on noiseless wings flits like a 

 phantom across the darkening graves. He has 

 vanished in the dusk ; but, as the night settles softly 

 down among the clustering trees, there sounds along 

 the hill at intervals his mournful, mellow call. 



