Volume 99 — AN INVOCATION.

Come back to Town! Why wander where The snow-clad peaks arise? Our English sunsets are as fair, With red September skies. Soft is the matutinal mist Through which the trees loom brown; Come back, if only to be kist,— Come back to Town! For evermore, in days like these, When musing on your face, My sad imagination sees Another in my place. Say, do you listen to his prayer, Or slay him with a frown? At any rate I can't be there. Come back to Town! Why linger by some far-off lake Or Continental strand? St. Martin's Summer comes to make A glory in the land. The river runs a golden stream Where WREN'S great dome looks down; Thine eyes, methinks, have brighter gleam; Come back to Town! I hear your voice upon the wind, In dreamland you appear; But do you wonder that I find The day so long and drear? Lentis adhærens brachiis come Once more my life to crown; Without thee 'tis too burdensome. Come back to Town!