England’s sun was slowly setting o’er the hill-tops far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And its last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,— He with footsteps slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair; He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful; she with lips so cold and white, Struggled to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”
