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A. C. FAIRLIE.
SWEET FALLS THE EVE.
Sweet falls the eve in Chumie's Vale,
And blithe awakes the morn,
The flow'rets scent the early gale,
That rustles through the corn.
The moonbeam glances on the hills,
And silvers o'er the lawn;
While tuneful dance the gushing rills
To hail the golden dawn.
There Nature with her fairest dress
The lofty hills adorn;
The morning breeze the flowers caress,
And Plenty fills her horn.
No fairer maids in Afric's land
Than where the streamlets glide
Among the Chumie Mountains grand
To lone Kieskamma's tide.
A. C. Fairlie.
