A blackened pile! But for
The song of one lone whip-poor-will,
Like to the morning, all is still!

SUNSET ON THE LAKE.

'Tis evening; on Winona Lake
The last glad sunbeams rest,
Shedding their golden glories o'er
Her soft and silken breast.
And as my little boat glides forth
Into their light, behold!
The splashes from my oars are like
Great drops of liquid gold.

And now a softer, richer hue
O'erspreads the western sky;
Trees, hilltops, water--everything
Seems bathed in crimson dye.
And o'er the bosom of the lake
Soft summer breezes glide,
Bringing incense from the lilies
On the other side.

I wonder, oh, I wonder so,
If in that world of bliss
Where sunsets never come, there's aught
More beautiful than this.
Oh, Father Time, if thou from me
All else that's lovely take,
Leave only in my memory
This sunset on the lake.

TO MY WHEEL.

Thou'rt bonnie, my steed, though a bit out of style,
We've traveled together full many a mile;
Yet nothing can give me such perfect delight
As to spring to thy saddle and spin out of sight,
Away from the city of turmoil and strife,

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