POETRY.
MAY DAY.—A FRAGMENT.
DAWN.
THE air is scented with the summer flowers,
Each twinkling star is dying fast ; and now The Eastern sky (where from her dewy couch Sweet rosy-fingered dawn will soon arise), Is tinged with golden light. Soft sighs the wind, And in the valley far below, the trees, Like giant phantoms, seem to nod and bend To unseen forms ; and over all a hush.
The world grows lighter, and the rising sun Dispels the misty vapours of the night, That cling to Earth's fair bosom. Waking birds Uplift their voice to welcome in the day ; And here a starling to her hungry brood Flies with some dainty morsel ; near at hand The hoot of owl, returning to her haunt From her night-hunting, sharp and clear is heard.
Hard by, a rabbit nibbles in his run
A tuft of dewy grass, and in the copse A pigeon calla her mate. In majesty Apollo rides the blue arch overhead, And sheds his golden beams upon the earth.
This fair, fair earth, all fragrant with the dew, Unmarred in all the freshness of the morn, Lies 'neath the azure sky. Now down below The hamlet wakes to life with Nature's world.
G. F. Ilreeen (aged 14).
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