Waiting in the Twilight.

Slowly from the western hill-sides Fades the sunset's ruddy light, While the birds amid the tree-tops Softly chirp their sweet "Good-night." Where the elm trees' spreading branches Hide the streamlets with their shades, Stands the fair-faced, blue-eyed Dolly, Flower of all the village maids,— Looking, in the growing twilight, Towards the grassy fields ahead, Listening still, with eye expectant, For the ever-welcome tread. From across the verdant meadow Comes a whistle, loud and shrill, Sounding through the evening stillness, Seemeth but the whip-poor-will. But the fair face glows still brighter, And the eyes more eager grow, As the notes come near and nearer, Louder than the streamlet's flow.

Soon she hears the well-known music Of his voice, borne on the air: "Don't you hear me coming, Dolly? Dolly, dear, I'll soon be there." And the one she's long been waiting, Hat upraised, now comes in sight, Hastening towards the blue-eyed maiden, Waiting in the soft twilight. Happy hearts, so young and trusting, May no frost e'er blight your love, But may blessings all unnumbered Fall upon you from above!