Down the old road I hastened.
Still, how still!
Never a whisper as the night crept near; No rustle in the hedge; in the bare wood No sigh of wind, no fret of moving bough. Along the fields the wan mist hung unstirred, Like the last breath of da; breathed as it died Before me dipped the road; the hollow there Was gloomy with its crowded leafless trees, And in that darkness like -spirit stood 'A floating shape i.white, the only thing In that hushed dorklin ig hour, that seemed to For, standing so, it wavered, leaned and bowed, Silent. in all that silene then rose straight 'A tall pale column set amidst the trees. It was the smoke from the old keeper's lodge, Scarce swaying to the drifts of listless air. Ky Berates in "Weekly Westminster."
Tunse Dany Evexine Gowns
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.