 | Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . |  |
The sultry summer past, September comes,
Soft twilight of the slow-declining year.
All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace;
The fading season ere the falling come,
More sober than the buxom blooming May,
And therefore less the favorite of the world,
But dearest month of all to pensive minds.
Tis now far spent; and the meridian sun
Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams
Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth.
Beneath its yellow lustre groves and woods
Checkered by one night's frost with various hues,
While yet no wind has swept a leaf away,
Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight
Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged
Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues,
The yellow, red, or purple of the trees
That singly or in tufts or forests thick
Adorn the shores; to see perhaps the side
Of some high mount reflected far below
With its bright colours, intermixed with spots
Of darker green. Yes it were sweetly sad
To wander in the open fields and hear
E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past,
The lulling insects of the summer's night;
To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard,
A lonely bee long roving here and there
To find a single flower, but all in vain;
Then rising quick and with a louder hum,
In widening circles round and round his head,
Straight by the listener flying clear away,
As if to bid the fields a last adieu;
To hear within the woodland's sunny side,
Late fall of music, nothing save perhaps
The sound of nut-shells by the squirrel dropt
From some tall beech fast falling through the leaves.
Soft twilight of the slow-declining year.
All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace;
The fading season ere the falling come,
More sober than the buxom blooming May,
And therefore less the favorite of the world,
But dearest month of all to pensive minds.
Tis now far spent; and the meridian sun
Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams
Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth.
Beneath its yellow lustre groves and woods
Checkered by one night's frost with various hues,
While yet no wind has swept a leaf away,
Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight
Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged
Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues,
The yellow, red, or purple of the trees
That singly or in tufts or forests thick
Adorn the shores; to see perhaps the side
Of some high mount reflected far below
With its bright colours, intermixed with spots
Of darker green. Yes it were sweetly sad
To wander in the open fields and hear
E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past,
The lulling insects of the summer's night;
To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard,
A lonely bee long roving here and there
To find a single flower, but all in vain;
Then rising quick and with a louder hum,
In widening circles round and round his head,
Straight by the listener flying clear away,
As if to bid the fields a last adieu;
To hear within the woodland's sunny side,
Late fall of music, nothing save perhaps
The sound of nut-shells by the squirrel dropt
From some tall beech fast falling through the leaves.
154
The sun now rests upon the mountain tops;
Begins to sink behind—is half concealed,
And now is gone: the last faint twinkling beam
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge.
Sweet to the pensive is departing day
When only one small cloud so still and thin,
So thoroughly imbued with amber light,
And so transparent, that it seems a spot
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount
Hangs o'er the hidden orb; or where a few
Long narrow stripes of denser, darker grain,
At each end sharpened to a needle's point
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream,
A half hour's space above the mountain lie;
Or when the whole consolidated mass
That only threatened rain, is broken up
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one,
One as the ocean broken into waves;
And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep
The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark,
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote,
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun,
Till twilight end. But now another scene
To me most beautiful of all appears;
The sky without the shadow of a cloud
Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow
So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye,
Not dazzling but dilating with calm force
Its power of vision to admit the whole.
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye,
Midway the blushing of the mellow peach
Paints not but tinges the etherial deep;
And here in this most lovely region shines
With added loveliness, the evening-star.
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven.
Begins to sink behind—is half concealed,
And now is gone: the last faint twinkling beam
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge.
Sweet to the pensive is departing day
When only one small cloud so still and thin,
So thoroughly imbued with amber light,
And so transparent, that it seems a spot
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount
Hangs o'er the hidden orb; or where a few
Long narrow stripes of denser, darker grain,
At each end sharpened to a needle's point
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream,
A half hour's space above the mountain lie;
Or when the whole consolidated mass
That only threatened rain, is broken up
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one,
One as the ocean broken into waves;
And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep
The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark,
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote,
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun,
Till twilight end. But now another scene
To me most beautiful of all appears;
The sky without the shadow of a cloud
Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow
So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye,
Not dazzling but dilating with calm force
Its power of vision to admit the whole.
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye,
Midway the blushing of the mellow peach
Paints not but tinges the etherial deep;
And here in this most lovely region shines
With added loveliness, the evening-star.
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven.
155
Along the level ridge o'er which the sun
Descended, in a single row arranged
As if thus planted by the hand of art,
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky,
And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved.
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands
With shafts erect and tops converged to one
A stately colonade with verdant roof;
Upon a nearer still, a single tree
With shapely form looks beautiful alone,
While farther northward through a narrow pass
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems,
And of a softer more etherial blue,
A pyramid of polished sapphire built.
Descended, in a single row arranged
As if thus planted by the hand of art,
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky,
And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved.
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands
With shafts erect and tops converged to one
A stately colonade with verdant roof;
Upon a nearer still, a single tree
With shapely form looks beautiful alone,
While farther northward through a narrow pass
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems,
And of a softer more etherial blue,
A pyramid of polished sapphire built.
But now the twilight mingles into one
The various mountains; levels to a plain
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade,
Where every object to my sight presents
Its shaded side; while here upon these walls
And in that eastern wood upon the trunks
Under thick foliage, reflective shows
Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line
Of the horizon parting heaven and earth.
The various mountains; levels to a plain
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade,
Where every object to my sight presents
Its shaded side; while here upon these walls
And in that eastern wood upon the trunks
Under thick foliage, reflective shows
Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line
Of the horizon parting heaven and earth.
| Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . | |