AUTUMN.

I.

THE Autumn skies are flush'd with gold, And fair and bright the rivers run; These are but streams of winter cold, And painted mists that quench the sun.

II.

In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
In secret boughs no bird can shroud;
These are but leaves that take to wing,
And wintry winds that pipe so loud.

III.

'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms That on the cheerless valleys fall, The flowers are in their grassy tombs,

And tears of dew are on them all.

THE SEA OF DEATH.

A FRAGMENT.

Methought I saw

Life swiftly treading over endless space;
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,
The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave,
Swallow'd her steps like a pursuing grave.

Sad were my thoughts that anchor'd silently
On the dead waters of that passionless sea,
Unstirr'd by any touch of living breath:
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death,
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings
On crowded carcases-sad passive things
That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil
Over the calmness of their features pale.

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep
Like water-lilies on that motionless deep,

How beautiful! with bright unruffled hair
On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were
Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse!
And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips,
Meekly apart, as if the soul intense

Spake out in dreams of its own innocence:

And so they lay in loveliness, and kept

The birth-night of their peace, that Life e'en wept
With very envy of their happy fronts;

For there were neighbor brows scarr'd by the brunts
Of strife and sorrowing-where Care had set
His crooked autograph, and marr❜d the jet
Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn,
And lips that curl'd in bitterness and scorn-
Wretched, as they had breathed of this world's pain,

And so bequeath'd it to the world again

Through the beholder's heart in heavy sighs.

So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lull'd sublime
To everlasting rest,—and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.

Ᏼ Ꭺ Ꮮ Ꮮ Ꭺ Ꭰ .

SHE'S

up and gone, the graceless Girl! And robb'd my failing years; My blood before was thin and cold But now 'tis turn'd to tears;My shadow falls upon my grave, So near the brink I stand, She might have stayed a little yet, And led me by the hand!

Aye, call her on the barren moor,
And call her on the hill,

'Tis nothing but the heron's cry,
And plover's answer shrill;
My child is flown on wilder wings,

Than they have ever spread,
And I may even walk a waste
That widen'd when she fled.

Full many a thankless child has been, But never one like mine;

Her meat was served on plates of gold,
Her drink was rosy wine;

But now she'll share the robin's food,
And sup the common rill,
Before her feet will turn again
To meet her father's will!

Ᏼ Ꭺ Ꮮ Ꮮ Ꭺ Ꭰ .

SIGH on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse
And Beauty's fairest queen,
Tho' 'tis not for my peasant lips

To soil her name between :

A king might lay his sceptre down,
But I am poor and naught,
The brow should wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.

The diamonds glancing in her hair, Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware The glancing of her eyes;

Yet looking once, I look'd too long,

And if my love is sin,

Death follows on the heels of wrong.

And kills the crime within.

Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,

O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,
But hodden grey is mine:
And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter'd princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand!