A CAMP FIRE REVERIE. 



ELIZABETH RUGGLES. 



The sun has set, 



The pale young moon 



Glides slowly forth to pay 

 A parting tribute 



To her lord, whose ray 



Has kissed her into life. 



There is a hush o'er Nature, 



Like the last, deep, tranquil breath 

 Of the departing soul, 



Which scarce had Death 

 Severed from Earth, 



Bursts into melody 

 Which throbs, vibrating, 



Through Eternity. 



So cometh night ; 



And o'er the placid lake 

 The moonbeams quiver. 



A deer stoops to slake 

 His thirst and snatch a lily, 



Gold and white, 

 Glistening with dew 



That glows in the weird light. 



From distant tree top 



Comes an owl's shrill cry; 

 A boat steals forth 



And glides, all noiseless, by. 

 The camp fire, long neglected, 



Now burns low ; 

 And as the embers die 



Anon they throw 



Strange, fitful shadows. 



Now a soft night breeze 



Rustles the alders — 

 Sighs through the pine trees — 



Breathes on my eyelids — ■ 

 Wafts dreams before me. 



Night, her soft mantle of sleep 

 Has thrown o'er me. 



THE NIGHT WATCHER. 



Slowly the wan moon 



Glides on toward the West; 



All peaceful is Nature — 

 The world sinks to rest. 



STOOPS TO SLAKE HIS THIRST. 

 107 



