102 ?(4fMBLES OF A <DOfMINlS 



and the jays no longer wrangle in the willows ; when 

 the monarch of mountains is dark upon the twilight sky, 

 wrapped in the rich purple of his royal mantle ; when the 

 martins, descending from their hover in the air, have 

 gone to rest beneath the eaves, then the curlews flying 

 over, mere dots of black upon the pallid blue, call softly 

 as they pass. And when the mountains are all black 

 against the face of night, when mists like gliding phan- 

 toms are swaying in the meadows, and the cry of the 

 river is sounding in the silent air, are heard the solemn 

 voices of the owls. Far off among the trees a solitary 

 bird is calling to his fellows, and now, as from some 

 lonely elf out of the dark, comes back the answer, a faint 

 soft musical halloo. 



