AFTER A TEMPEST. THE day had been a day of wind and storm, The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm, Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. I stood upon the upland slope, and cast Mine eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green, With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between. The rain-drops glistened on the trees around, For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard And gossiped, as he hastened oceanward; And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung, And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where It was a scene of peace-and, like a spell, Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell, And glassy river and white waterfall, And happy living things that trod the bright And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all, On many a lovely valley, out of sight, Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light. I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene When o'er earth's continents, and isles between, AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors 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, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile The sweetest of the year. 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 colored 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, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Her blush of maiden shame. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, Ah! 'twere a lot too blest Forever in thy colored shades to stray; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and powerThe passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. MUTATION. THEY talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so- Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease: Are fruits of innocence and blessedness: Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press. Weep not that the world changes-did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep. NOVEMBER. YET one smile more, departing, distant sun! And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, And man delight to linger in thy ray. Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON. I BUCKLE to my slender side The pistol and the scimitar, And in my maiden flower and pride Am come to share the tasks of war. |