Recording

A SUMMER gloaming lit by one pale star,
When cricket songs the night’s weird echoes woke,
And katydids sent their sharp notes afar
From out the coolness of a spreading oak,
Now fills my soul with memories most sweet.
The light-house gleamed, a flame-crowned sentinel,
And where the lines of earth and ocean meet
The long, low rollers softly rose and fell.

Then, from the mist that hung above the sea,
Like a gold cresset full of amber light,
The broad moon came. Above a bending tree
A floating cirrus showed its snowy white,
And coming with the moon, and growing strong,
I he cool night wind ran o’er the heated ground,
Making the low waves murmur into song,
Through broadening circles of melodious sound.

Who counts his life in fleeting hours and days
Makes sad mistake; but by sweet scenes like this
We should keep record of its devious ways,
And use for stops a hand-clasp or a kiss.
Ah, what are all the years to that short hour —
When only one pale star in heaven outshone,
And sent its thin light wavering o'er the flower,
Dew-gemmed and sweet, — that sealed you mine alone!

Thomas S. Collier.