164 AUTUMN WOODS. Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze, Twinkles, like beams of light. The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen, And glimmerings of the sun. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Her blush of maiden shame. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad; Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed For ever in thy coloured shades to stray; To rove and dream for aye; AUTUMN WOODS. And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. 165 A WINTER PIECE. THE time has been that these wild solitudes, Yet beautiful as wild-were trod by me Oftener than now; and when the ills of life Had chafed my spirit-when the unsteady pulse Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills, The quiet dells retiring far between, Then the chant Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress With whom I early grew familiar, one Who never had a frown for me, whose voice From cares I loved not, but of which the world Deems highest, to converse with her. When shrieked The bleak November winds, and smote the woods, A WINTER PIECE. And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades, That met above the merry rivulet, 167 Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still,-they seemed Like old companions in adversity. Still there was beauty in my walks; the brook, Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay Afar, The village with its spires, the path of streams, Through the bare grove, and my familiar haunts A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves, Through the snow The partridge found a shelter. 168 A WINTER PIECE. The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts But winter has yet brighter scenes,-he boasts Splendours beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn, with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues. Come, when the rains Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice; While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps, That stream with rainbow radiance as they move. |