AUTUMN.

THE Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;-
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;
Old age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping;-
Poor wretch, fall a weeping!

The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,
The night has no eve,

And the day has no morning;-
Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill,

The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,

And life is fast shrinking;-
Here's enow for sad thinking!

SONG.

FOR MUSIC.

I.

A LAKE and a fairy boat

To sail in the moonlight clear,

And merrily we would float

From the dragons that watch us here;

II.

Thy gown should be snow-white silk,
And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipp'd in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

III.

Red rubies should deck thy hands, And diamonds should be thy dow'rBut Fairies have broke their wands, And wishing has lost its pow'r!

SONG.

I.

THE stars are with the voyager
Wherever he may sail;

The moon is constant to her time;
The sun will never fail;

But follow, follow round the world,
The green earth and the sea;
So love is with the lover's heart,
Wherever he

may be.

II.

Wherever he may be, the stars
Must daily lose their light;
The moon will veil her in the shade;
The sun will set at night.
The sun may set, but constant love

Will shine when he's away;

So that dull night is never night,
And day is brighter day.

King of the tuneful lyre.

Still poets' hymns to thee belong;
Though lips are cold

Whereon of old

Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song!

III.

Lord of the dreadful bow,

None triumph now for Python's death;
But thou dost save

From hungry grave

The life that hangs upon a summer breath.

IV.

Father of rosy day,

No more thy clouds of incense rise;

But waking flow'rs

At morning hours,

Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

V.

God of the Delphic fane,

No more thou listenest to hymns sublime;

But they will leave

On winds at eve,

A solemn echo to the end of time.

TO A COLD BEAUTY.

I.

LADY, wouldst thou heiress be

To Winter's cold and cruel part? When he sets the rivers free,

Thou dost still lock up thy heart;Thou that shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow?

II.

Scorn and cold neglect are made
For winter gloom and winter wind,
But thou wilt wrong the summer air,
Breathing it to words unkind,-
Breath which only should belong
To love, to sunlight, and to song!

III.

When the little buds unclose,

Red, and white, and pied, and blue,
And that virgin flow'r, the rose,
Opes her heart to hold the dew,

Wilt thou lock thy bosom up
With no jewel in its cup?

IV.

Let not cold December sit

Thus in Love's peculiar throne;— Brooklets are not prison'd now,

But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which hangs upon the spray, It is no snow, but flower of May!

RUTH.

SHE stood breast high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripen'd;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil'd a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks

Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

THE SEA OF DEATH.

A FRAGMENT.

Methought I saw

Life swiftly treading over endless space;
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,