THOUGHTS IN AUTUMN.

YES, thou art welcome, Autumn! all thy changes,
From fitful gloom, to sunny skies serene;

The starry vaults, o'er which the charmed eye ranges,
And clear cold moonlight-touching every scene
With a peculiar sadness- are sweet things
To which my heart congenial fondly clings.

There is a moral in the withered wreathes

And faded garlands, that adorn thy bowers;

Each blighted shrub-chilled flower-or seared leaf breathes Of parted days-and brighter, by-gone hoursContrasting with the present dreary scene

Spring's budding beauties--pleasures which have been.

Oh, life! thy pageantry is here portrayed ;
A thousand emblems picture thee to view --
But never, till Experience stern has laid

On the young heart her wand, we deem them true.
Then, while yet smarting from the touch, we own,
Faithless the phantoms from our sight withdrawn.

Friends, who have loved us in the pleasant years
Of childhood - dead, or exiled far away;
The seeming kind ones, who, deceiving tears
Shed for a time, then left us for the gay;
The cold the false-all then to memory start,
And deeply trace their records on the heart.

- my fair

my only one - now lying

In Infancy's first bloom; beneath the cold

And cheerless sod, on whose still breast are dying

These crisped young flow'rets, with their charms untold,

How come, in such an hour, fond thoughts of thee,
To soothe, yet sadden brooding Memory!

To win the spirit from those fleeting dreams
Which bind it down to Earth-to break the spell
Of each bright vision, which enchantment seems,
And Truth's hard lesson deeply teach and well,
Bidding the mind on Hope's light pinions rise,
And seek its home -its joy beyond the skies.

Alas! there are not many lights which shed

Their brightening radiance long, to cheer us here; And some have lived to know the lustre fled

From those which promised most-seemed strong and clear,

Until the gathering clouds o'er Life's wild stream
Wrapt all in gloom, save Hope's undying beam.

Then may they not-worn bosoms such as these,
Find sad memorials in ten thousand things
To symbol forth their history? Leafless trees
Ye answer to my call-the bleak wind flings
In Autumn's eve a spell upon the heart,
From whose dark sympathy, 'twere grief to part.

And things inanimate may wake a sigh,

When living objects weary: oft it cheers
The drooping spirit - and relieves the eye,
To gaze on Nature through our gushing tears
On objects which we feel cannot inherit,
Though doomed to fail like us -a deathless spirit.

LINES

Addressed to a White Chrysanthemum, presented to the writer in December.

FAIR gift of Friendship!a nd her ever bright
And faultless image! welcome now thou art,
In thy pure loveliness-thy robes of white,
Speaking a moral to the feeling heart;

Unscathed by heats — by wintry blasts unmoved —
Thy strength thus tested — and thy charms improved.

--

Emblem of innocence, which fearless braves
Life's dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides,
And floats as calmly on o'er troubled waves,
As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides;
Thou 'rt blooming now as beautiful and clear,
As other blossoms do, when Spring is here.

Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom,

Hung o'er the mind by stern December's reign!
Thou cheer'st the fancy by thy steady bloom
With thoughts of Summer and the fertile plain,
Calling a thousand visions into play,

Of beauty redolent—and bright as May!

Type of a true and holy love; the same

Through every scene that crowds life's varied page; Mid grief-mid gladness, spell of every dream, Tender in youth and strong in feeble age!

The peerless picture of a modest wife,

Thou bloom'st the fairest, midst the frosts of life.*

* Literally-the water in which it was placed being now frozen.

Her face upon his breast, while the red fire
Flashed from dark clouds, careering in their ire
Like angry spirits. - Ere an hour had past,
The storm was spent, and its terrific blast
Hushed into stillness; but, before they turned
To leave the spot, the restless thoughts that burned
In Henry's breast, were breathed o'er Clara's cheek,
And silence answered more than words could speak.

And they were wed oh, gentle Love, how dear
Is thy sweet influence when thou thus dost rear
Amid our household gods thy sacred shrine,
And giv'st thy torch upon our hearths to shine,
Folding in calm repose thy radiant wings,

And gathering round our homes earth's purest, loveliest things!

THE MOTHER'S FAREWELL TO HER WEDDED DAUGHTER.

Go, dearest one; my selfish love shall never pale thy cheek; Not e'en a mother's fears for thee will I in sadness speak: Yet how can I with coldness check the burning tears that

start?

Hast thou not turned from me, to dwell within another's heart?

I think on earlier, brighter days, when first my lip was prest Upon thy baby brow, whilst thou lay helpless on my breast. In fancy still I see thine eye uplifted to my face;

I hear thy lisping tones, and mark with joy thy childish

grace.

E'en then I knew it would be thus; I thought e'en in that

hour,

Another would its perfume steal, when I had reared the flower;

And yet I will not breathe a sigh-how can I dare repine? The sorrow that thy mother feels was suffered once by mine.

A mother's love!-oh! thou knowest not how much of feeling lies

In those sweet words; the hopes, the fears, the daily strength'ning ties:

It lives ere yet the infant draws its earliest vital breath, And dies but when the mother's heart chills in the grasp of death.

Will he, in whose fond arms thou seek'st thine all of earthly bliss,

E'er feel a love untiring, deep, and free from self as this? Ah, no! a husband's tenderness thy gentle heart may prove; But never, never wilt thou meet again a mother's love.

My love for thee must ever be fond as in years gone by ; While to thy heart I shall be like a dream of memory. Dearest, farewell! may angel hosts their vigils o'er thee keep,

How can I speak that fearful word, " farewell," and yet not weep?