The busy grapevine o’er the coppice weaves A cunning mesh of interlacing leaves, Whereon adventurous urchins clamber high, With giddy shout saluting the blue sky; Or loll in golden sunshine baptismal, Inhaling balm of buds ambrosial, And, by hilarious breezes rocked and fanned, Through loops of verdure gaze from Fairyland. Ere dies on heaven’s breast the morning star, All unsubstantial, visionary, far, In opalescent vapor loom the glades, Dawn-rosy domes, dim grottoes and arcades, Of yon enchanted dingles of the fay; Behold! transmuted in the sheen of day, By aureolar rays of Iris spanned, A bower of dewdrops, glitters Fairyland! When dusk descends, the eerie host delight As twinkling fireflies to bestar the night; Then melancholy tree-toads shrill the throat, And chirring crickets chime an irksome note; Flits the lean bat the timorous wren to fray; The muffled screech-owl hurtles on his prey; For evil wings a gruesome hour command, Though holy stars keep watch o’er Fairyland. All demonkind, or wicked, null, or good, Lurk in the hollows of the sprightful wood; There murk fogs drop distillings of the sea; The weird moon plies her midnight witchery; Time slumbers there; there Love and Beauty sport; And Death holds there his grim, fantastic court; No ghost may blab, no mortal understand The mystic wonders of our Fairyland. SUMMER LOVE. I know ’tis late, but let me stay, For night is tenderer than day; Sweet love, dear love, I cannot go, Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. The birds in leafy hiding sleep; Shrill katydids their vigil keep; The woodbine breathes a fragrance rare Upon the dewy languid air; The fireflies twinkle in the vale, The river looms in moonshine pale, And look! a meteor’s dreamy light Streams mystic down the solemn night! Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire-- How soon our throbbing joys expire; Who can be sure the present kiss Is not his last? Make all of this. I know ’tis late, sweet love, I know, Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. Fantastic mist obscurely fills The hollows of Kentucky hills; Heardst thou? I heard or fear I heard Vague twitters of some wakeful bird; The wingéd hours are swift indeed! Why makes the jealous morn such speed? This rose thou wearst may I not take For passionate remembrance’ sake? Press with thy lips its crimson heart; Yes, blushing rose, we must depart; A rose cannot return a kiss-- I pay its due with this, and this; The stars grow faint, they soon will die, But love faints not nor fails.--Good-bye! Unhappy joy--delicious pain-- We part in love, we meet again! Good-bye!--the morning dawns--I go, Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. CLOVER HILL.