7 APRIL 1906, Page 16

POE TRY.

VESPERS.

THE day long have I toiled at oars, The river broadened as I went, And now each herb of evening pours Upon the air its inmost scent.

Fast gathered to their mother bill, The young plantations drowse and dream,

• And down the valley bright and still, Like golden satin shines the stream ;

While red behind their bars of elm The sunset fires begin to fade, And tender mists to overwhelm The pastures with'a silver shade.

Till presently there comes to me, For requiem of this good day gone, The tranquil benedicite Of twilight bells from Basildon.

So silken clear, so soft and far, • It seems the dusk has scarcely stirred ; While o'er the reeds one silver star Remains God's last unspoken word.

H. H. BAMFORD.