Page:Stevenson - Across the Plains (1892).djvu/330

316 disappointment will scarce even be required in this last formality of laying down his arms. Give him a march with his old bones; there, out of the glorious sun-coloured earth, out of the day and the dust and the ecstasy—there goes another Faithful Failure!

From a recent book of verse, where there is more than one such beautiful and manly poem, I take this memorial piece: it says better than I can, what I love to think; let it be our parting word.

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended. Lingers as in content. There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace.

The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine, and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun. Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night— Night, with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep