THE TRUCE 0’ NIGHT

Lo, it is dark,

Save for the crystal spark

Of a virgin star o’er the purpling lea, Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young Moon that is hung

O’er the priest-like firs by the sea;

Lo, it is still,

Save for the wind of the hill,

And the luring, primeval sounds that fill The moist and scented air—-

’Tis the truce 0’ night, away with unrest and care!

Now we may forget

Love’s fever and hate’s fret,

Forget to-morrow and yesterday;

And the hopes we buried in musky gloom Will come out of their tomb,

Warm and poignant and gay;

We may wander wide,

With only a wish for a guide,

By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide, We may share in fairy mirth,

And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth.