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, grey 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.
So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
Robert Louis Stevenson was born at Edinburgh in 1850. He was at first
trained to be a lighthouse engineer, following the profession of his
family. However, he studied law instead; was admitted to the bar in
1875; and abandoned law for literature a few years later.
Though primarily a novelist, Stevenson has left one immortal book of
poetry which is equally at home in the nursery and the library: _A
Child's Garden of Verses_ (first published in 1885) is second only to
Mother Goose's own collection in its lyrical simplicity and universal
appeal. _Underwoods_ (1887) and _Ballads_ (1890) comprise his entire
poetic output. As a genial essayist, he is not unworthy to be ranked
with Charles Lamb. As a romancer, his fame rests securely on
_Kidnapped_, the unfinished masterpiece, _Weir of Hermiston_, and that
eternal classic of youth, _Treasure Island_.
Stevenson died after a long and dogged fight with his illness, in the
Samoan Islands in 1894.