its maturity of luxurious loveliness, an excursion into the country: "There, the loaded fruit trees bending, Strew with mellow gold the land; Here, on high, from vines impending, Purple clusters court the hand." Autumn now throws her many tinted robe over our land- "The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year;" bright-hearted Halleck sings in a strain of quite a different tune, in describing the country at this period. Who would not know these lines to be his; "In the autumn time, Earth has no holier, nor no lovelier clime." But we must not quote him either, for the same reason. This objection, however does not apply to the delicate morceau of poor Brainard, which has seldom been copied, is in little repute, but which contains the true inspiration of poetry. "What is there sadd'ning in these autumn leaves? ' Have they that 'green and yellow melancholy,' That the sweet poet spake of? Had he seen When the dread fever quits us-when the storms Of the wild equinox, with all its wet, Has left the land, as the first deluge left it, Upon the forest tops- he had not sighed. Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks, "ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE." I've seen in blooming loveliness, The youthful maiden's angel form; I've seen in towering stateliness, Has sped him to the tomb; Nor hero's towering stateliness 234 OLD BULFINCH AND YOUNG BIRDS. And silence publicly enjoin'd, Deliver'd briefly thus his mind; "My friends, be cautious how you treat The subject upon which we meet ; I fear we shall have winter yet." A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, A last year's bird who ne'er had tried By his good will would keep us single, 'Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?” Dick heard; and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Of an immediate conjugation. All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast; An aspect stern in man's affairs, Not altogether smiled on theirs. The wind, that late breathed gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow; Grew quarrelsome and peck'd each other; Parted without the least regret, MORAL. Young folks, who think themselves so wise, That old folk's counsel they despise, Will find when they too late repent, Their folly prove their punishment. THE RIVER. RIVER River! little River! Bright you sparkle on your way, O'er the yellow pebbles dancing, River! River! swelling River! River! River! brimming River! River! River! rapid River! Swifter now you slip away; Swift and silent as an arrow, Through a channel dark and narrow, Like life's closing day. |