She follows happy waters after, Leaving behind low, rippling laughter. IV Behind the hilltop drops the sun, The curled heat falters on the sand, While evening's ushers, one by one, Lead in the guests of Twilight Land. The bird is silent overhead, Below the beast has laid him down; Afar, the marbles watch the dead, The lonely steeple guards the town. The south wind feels its amorous course To cloistered sweet in thickets found; The leaves obey its tender force, And stir 'twixt silence and a sound. * * * * * [Footnote 1: From "Poems," published by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston.] BLISS CARMAN CANADA, 1861- A VAGABOND SONG[1] There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood-- Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of fame She calls and calls each vagabond by name. * * * * * [Footnote 1: From "Songs from Vagabondia," by Bliss Carman. Used by the courteous permission of the author and the publishers, Messrs. Small, Maynard, & Co.] JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY AMERICA, 1852-