BEAUTIES OF TWILIGHT.
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The sun has sunk beneath the western wave, And pensve twilight, with her banners gray, Spreads the horizon with an aspect grave, Mingling the beauties of departed day.

 The focks that feed along the verdant hills, Now seek, like man, the blessings of repose: The workman's hammer and the axe are still ], The birds sit silent-scarce 8 zephyr blows. Now on the ear the distant echo dies,

 With the soft murmur of the bees low hum, The new moon wanders gently down the skies Like worn traveller to his distant home. 2 Now calm reflections plilosophic power Lightens the mournful heart of halfits load, And marks this placid and delightful hour,

 resting spot on life's too rugged road.