Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, And in Summer's green emblazoned field,

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing,

In the centre of his brazen shield;

Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brink

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys,

Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink;

Not alone in her vast dome of glory,

Not on graves of bird and beast alone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone;

In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers,

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers;

In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soullike wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons,

How akin they are to human things.

5

And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land.

THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale,

Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But, when the old cathedral bell

Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmèd air.

Down the broad valley, fast and far,
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,

That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and

wan

Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground"
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,

Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice, nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And when the solemn and deep church bell

Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.

MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE
DYING YEAR.

YES, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!

The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;

Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,

A sound of woe!

Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, "Pray for this poor soul,
Pray,-Pray!"

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter their doleful prayers;-
But their prayers are all in vain,
All in vain!

There he stands in the foul weather,
The foolish, fond Old Year,
Crowned with wild flowers and with
heather,

Like weak, despised Lear,
A king,-a king!

Then comes the summer-like day,
Bids the old man rejoice!

His joy! his last! O, the old man gray
Loveth that ever-soft voice,

Gentle and low.

To the crimson woods he saith,-
To the voice gentle and low

Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,

"Pray do not mock me so!

Do not laugh at me!"

And now the sweet day is dead;
Cold in his arms it lies;
No stain from its breath is spread
Over the glassy skies,

No mist or stain!

Then, too, the Old Year dieth,

And the forests utter a moan, Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone,

"Vex not his ghost!" Then comes, with an awful roar, Gathering and sounding on, The storm-wind from Labrador, The wind Euroclydon,

The storm-wind!

Howl! howl! and from the forest
Sweep the red leaves away!
Would the sins that thou abhorrest,
O Soul! could thus decay,

And be swept away!

For there shall come a mightier blast,
There shall be a darker day;
And the stars, from heaven down-cast,
Like red leaves be swept away!

Kyrie, eleyson! Christe, eleyson!

L'ENVOI.

YE voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart
repose!

Go, breathe it in the ear

Of all who doubt and fear,

And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead, not lost,
But speaking from death's frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps

Of the vast plain where Death encamps!

WOODS IN WINTER.

WHEN Winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill

That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side. Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay,

And winds were soft, and woods were

I love the season well,

When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,

Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell

The coming-on of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;

Though stricken to the heart with Winter's cold,

The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings

Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along

The forest openings.

When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws

Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows.

And, when the eve is born,

In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,

Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,

And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide,

Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw;

And the fair trees look over, side by side,

And see themselves below.

Sweet April!-many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;

Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,

Life's golden fruit is shed.

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,

And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's
flow

Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of
day

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral

way.

I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,

The woods were bending with a silent reach.

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,

Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot,
thin smoke,

Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will
keep

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,

Go to the woods and hills !-No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK.
ON sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down
The glory that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its brazen leaves.

Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone,

In the warm blush of evening shone ;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.