Washington sentinel., 1853-10-07
Twilight In the Villa ge.

How softly falls twilight in the village! The
woods are crowned with red and the hills fade
from crimson to purple. A holy radiance
shines in the blue transparency of the skies.
The birds tWitter bits of song as they fold their
plumage for rest One star, out betimes to
light evening through its cloud-path, trembles
at its own beauty, mirrored in the placid river.
In peace the sun is sinking behind the hills.
Peace is written on field, flower and leaf
Peace seems falling from Heaven like the dew
that sinks i'll the heart of earth. The low hum
of human voices is rather the melody of 81
ence than its disturber.
Down the hilly, winding road comes the load
ed vain. High-perched in the midst of the
fragrant hay-mound, sits yellow-haired child
tricky as a sprite, an oat-plume in his brim-
less hat, a bunch of gaudy burs in his hand
All life will weave thee some crown of thorns,
my boy, even more rapidly, more surely, than
thou thy field treasures; thou canst not throw
it by like those.
Black Pomp frisks by his masters side as he
guides the numbering oxen. The old man is
tired. And who shall say what unwritten
poetry swells his bosom as he sees wife and
babes in the mellow distance Sure of well
come-happy rustic he! No city splendor for
him-but large shares of heart and home
In hundred kitchens the snowy cloth is
spread. On a hundred hearts the boiling ket-
tie bubbles its merry music. Out go mothers
to gather in the struggling children from gar
den and hillside. How the berries have stained
them-p, cheek, frock, and fingers, and what
boots chiding! They will do the same to-mor-
row. From hillside streams come the elder
boys, their hands full of tiny fish, and little
girls haste from their mimic gardens, leaving
their broken twiggs to shoot into trees as they
fondly hope.
Neighbor halls neighbor, as he shakes the
dust from his shoes, and lifts the latch from
his gate, driving before him to their shelter
crowd of hens and chickens. Here and there
white-headed patriot puts lingeringly from his
sight his favorite newspaper folds the old horn
trimmed spectacles away in a case, worn like
himself, aud hobbies into the call of supper
9onder, where a spectre hand, white as DEATH
folds back the muslin curtain, the poor con
sumptve woos the cool, sweet breath of eve
ming, as it comes with stars in its crown Of re-
Joicing
Now, on the stiffness floats the secret song
Childish ringlets are crushed between dimpled
hand and cheek grey locks soften with their
silvery outlines and horny palms Heads are
bent reverently, and through the solemn hush,
up to the angels who minister in the good
homes, are waited simple prayers, and they
bear them to the Father. Now curtains are
ungathered and shutters locked, but between
crack and crevice CLEAN out their yellow rays
from the sick room--from the Students cham
ber--from the kitchen, rich only in ceanl
ness-come those little ministers of light. And
they stream out-out over the white fences
over the brown hedges, clear through to the
waters brink. And there, clustering about the
silver wake Of the moon, they dance and gilt
ter till the rustic bridge frightens them away
with its shadow-till departing days drowsy
glance melts into sleep and twilight is ended.
Olire Branch.