'Tis the witehing liour of twilight, Flitling shadows f 11 around, ■Vhile Ihe pe fumed breath of flowers Eise like incensé f rom the ground. Here I sit, at open casoment, WMle the freshly stirring breeze Gathers notes of varest swoetness As it floats on through the trees. Cease, my lieart, thy troubled beating, Tune thy song to happier lays ; Hushed be thouglit of vain repining, Dweil uponthe brigliter days; ■Vhen the stream of life flowed gently Through the happy isles of youlh. And my spirits light and bounding, Knew of naught but love and truth. Scènes forgotten rise before me, At the touch of memory's lyre ; Hopes and fears again bet de me, Now advance, then quick retire. For unto niy wakened fancy, Dearest forma now meet my view, And with flying steps I hasten To embraces warm and true. Qui.kly speed the golden hours, Dance they by on fleeting leet ; Birds are singing clmral anth.-ms, Which the joyous waves repeat; All the air is fil'ied wilh music, And the flowers dance in glee - All anitingin the gladness That comes floating by - tome. Brightest stars peep from the aznre, Sniiling welcome to their queen, Who, on rosed-iinged clouds, comes mailing, To add beauty to the scène ; When a swallow, wildly flitling, Flies against my window-pane, Brings me back trom reahns elysian, To my work-day woild again.