THE REIGN OF THE WHIPPOORWILLS.

When dews begin to chill The blossom throngs, And soft the brooklets trill Their slumber-songs, We dusky Whippoorwills In conquest hold the hills.

When, thro’ the midnight dells, Wild star-beams glow, Like wan-eyed sentinels, We dreamward go, And hear sung sweetly o’er The songs we stilled before.

When waketh dawn, we flee The slumber-main, And bid the songsters be With us again To sing in praise of light Above the buried night.

But O, when sunrise gleams, We vanish fast, And woo again in dreams The starlit past, Till, lo! at twilight gray, We wail the dirge of day! —Frank English.