106 EVENING SONG. 
It is not with the rich man thus; 
For though his grounds are wide, 
He looks beyond and yet beyond 
With soul unsatisfied. 
—Mas. Howitt. 
EVENING SONG. 
Linger, oh linger a short time still, 
Beloved, by my side, 
For from behind yon distant hill 
The evening shades now glide ; 
And nightingales begin to thrill 
Their song of eventide. 
Linger, oh linger yet awhile, 
And watch eve’s star arise 
With such a sweet and placid smile 
Upon her own blue skies. 
While still the west for many a mile 
Is tinged with sunset dyes. 
Linger, oh linger still to gaze. 
Encircled by mine arm, 
Upon the young moon’s trembling rays, 
W iu-t, ever bear a charm 
For 've s’ hearts, and well portrays 
iO ps course upon life’s calm. 
