EAGLE LAKE, MAINE.

THE evening sun still brightens all the west

And sends his mellow rays across the lake,

Lying in shadow, to the green hill-tops,

That answer with a smile of luminous peace.

Purely the waves transparent kiss the shore,

And with a steady love the west-wind blows

Refreshing cool. A moment yet I stay,

While the soft hills grow purple, and the sea's

Sweet lips are tinged with violet at the approach

Of her unloved and dark-browed suitor, night.

Alas, poor timorous lake! It dreads to shift

Its leaden waves in heavy restlessness

Under a midnight sky; it fears to pass

Thus darkly to the rosy ray of morn.

W. P. E.