THE forests and hills grow sombre
On the rim of the sunset bright :
A sweet bird calls from the branches,
"Shall I bid thy love 'Good-night'?"
Ah, birdie, how dull thy heart is!
Dream'st not of her heavenward flight?
But soar to her starry dwelling,
There give her my last "Good-night"!
C. F. L.
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Tug-of-War Team.