Next evening shone the waxing moon

As sweetly as before;

The deer upon the grassy

mead

Was seen again no more.

But ere that crescent moon was old,

By night the red men came,

And ournt the cottage to the ground,
And slew the youth and dame.

Now woods have overgrown the mead,
And hid the cliffs from sight;

There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon,

And prowls the fox at night.

THE WANING MOON.

I'VE watched too late; the morn is near;
One look at God's broad silent sky!

Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die!

Even while your glow is on the cheek,
And scarce the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone.

See where upon the horizon's brim,
Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars;
The waning moon, all pale and dim,
Goes
up amid the eternal stars.

Late, in a flood of tender light,

She floated through the ethereal blue,

A softer sun, that shone all night
Upon the gathering beads of dew.

And still thou wanest, pallid moon!

The encroaching shadow grows apace;

Heaven's everlasting watchers soon
Shall see thee blotted from thy place..

Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!
Well may thy sad, expiring ray

Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions fade away.

Shine thou for forms that once were bright, For sages in the mind's eclipse,

For those whose words were spells of might, But falter now on stammering lips!

In thy decaying beam there lies

Full many a grave on hill and plain, Of those who closed their dying eyes In grief that they had lived in vain.

Another night, and thou among

The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine,

All rayless in the glittering throng

Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.

Yet soon a new and tender light

From out thy darkened orb shall beam, And broaden till it shines all night

On glistening dew and glimmering stream.

THE STREAM OF LIFE.

OH silvery streamlet of the fields,
That flowest full and free!

For thee the rains of spring return,
The summer dews for thee;
And when thy latest blossoms die
In autumn's chilly showers,
The winter fountains gush for thee,
Till May brings back the flowers.

Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs But once beside thy bed;

But one brief summer, on thy path,

The dews of heaven are shed.

Thy parent fountains shrink away,

And close their crystal veins,

And where thy glittering current flowed

The dust alone remains.