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AT NIGHT.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

IN the dead of night I stood,

Gazing on the solitude, -

Weary, dreams of quiet wooed.

I alone my vigil kept;

All the world beside me slept,

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Save the ripples, as they crept

Gently on the shady shore,

Softly telling o'er and o'er

Tales from Nature's bookless lore.

Then the seven Pleiades

Rose above the distant trees,

Stealing onward by degrees,

Like a band of brothers true,

Through the vault of dusky blue,

Till they passed from out my view.

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