162 SUMMER WIND. That still delays its coming. Why so slow, Gentle and voluble spirit of the air? Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth He comes i He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge, Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round. Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, 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, But 'neath yon crimson tree, Her blush of maiden shame. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, 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, Had chafed my spirit-when the unsteady pulse Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills, The quiet dells retiring far between, That talked with me and soothed me. 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 |