On the brow of Clover Hill Stands a maiden gazing out Through the purple twilight still, Half in rapture, half in doubt; In the heavens Venus glistens, While the maiden looks and listens. On the brow of Clover Hill Deeper gloaming shadows fall; Moans the plaintive whippowill; Lonesome is the cricket’s call; In the heavens Venus glistens, Far the maiden looks and listens. On the brow of Clover Hill Lingering she fondly sighs; Anxious fears her bosom fill, Tears bedew her mournful eyes; In the heavens Venus glistens, Still the maiden looks and listens. Footsteps! hark! On Clover Hill! Faring nearer and more near! Hearts ecstatic throb and thrill! “War is over! He is here!” In the zenith Venus glistens, Lovers kiss and Heaven listens. THE WEDDING DEFERRED. Complaining flow the waters slow Along the valley green and low; The lilies dight in virgin white Float fragrant in the ardent light, And to the gossip ripples say, “It is the Day!--is’t not the Day? When comes the bridal train this way?” Yon amethystine hill-top kist By lingering enamored mist, Hears in the sky warm zephyrs sigh To wooing clouds that dally by; The wandering whispers seem to say, “Is’t not the Day?--it is the Day! Why comes no bridal train this way?” Forlorn of mood, by love pursued, A youth laments in solitude; The brown dove’s eyes soft sympathize With him and to her mate she cries, “What can the glad espousals stay? It is the Day!--is’t not the Day? Yet comes no bridal train this way.” O laggard moon, arise full soon And swim to night’s auspicious noon, The star-sea ride and swiftly glide From eventide to eventide,-- Whirl through a month, that I may say “It _is_ the Day! It _is_ the Day! Now comes the bridal train this way!” TO THE LITTLE MIAMI RIVER. Romantic the rocky and fern-scented regions, Miami, the grots where thy rambles begin, By cedars and hemlocks, in evergreen legions, With silence and twilight seclusion shut in. There darkling recesses in miniature mountains Recall to my fancy the haunts of the gnome; There fabled Undina might rise from the fountains, Or sport in the waterfalls’ glistening foam. Now laughing in ripples and dancing the sedges, Now fretting the minnows in eddy and whirl, Now kissing the pebbles that sprinkle thy edges, And laving the pearl and the mother-of-pearl; Glide, whispering now under sycamore shadow, Now singing by hamlet and cottage and mill, Now shimmering onward through flowery meadow, Now glassing the image of foresty hill.