University of Virginia Library

AUTUMN.

How mournfully I view thy pomp depart,
Oh! Nature, yet thou ever glorious art,
'Tis but a change of glory, and the light
Of Summer, erst so lovely and so bright,
Yields to the splendour of these Autumn hours,
Which turn to living gold the Emerald bowers,
This change indeed hath its own charms, and dull
Are they who see not it is beautiful,
But yet 'tis mournful thus to see decay,
Though clad in Loveliness, assert its sway;
Mournful are these dusk shades that swiftly close
The shortened day, and brood in grey repose
O'er all the scene, a little while before
So rich with rainbow-colouring's dazzling store.
Oh! the pathetic Beauty of the Year,
When flowers forget their bloom and leaves grow sere,
Autumn! Thou glorious Autumn! it might seem
Thou wert a Prophetess in passionate dream,
Foretelling to this fleeting World its fate,
This World of brief though of uncertain date,
And crying still “Decay—Death—Death—Decay”—
To all that breathe and live from day to day.
Sad Autumn, for the pomp wherewith thou'rt clad,
But makes thee seem more exquisitely sad,
The Earthly scene is given thee for awhile,
And vainly dost thou smile thy Sunset smile
As though to check the ruin then begun,
Which thou mayst mask awhile but canst not shun.
In sooth thou dost array the wond'rous scene
With rainbow hues more rich than Summer's green,
And lend'st the gorgeous colourings of the rose
To things whose life must soon and sadly close,
And sheath'st in burning gold the withered leaf,
And shroud'st in pomp the passion of thy grief,
Sad Autumn! thou art here, ev'n now thou'rt here,
And 'tis a dazzling World although a drear!
Oh! melancholy Season—thou art now
Stamped with a World's decay upon thy brow,
And drawest near unto thine own, ere long
Shall Winter reign thy disrobed haunts among;
And Oh! less dreary shall he seem to me
With all his rough and bleak austerity,
Than those proud funeral splendours that array
Thy changeful scene and blazon forth Decay.
The leafless bough I rather had behold
Than that which glistens with thy lifeless gold,
The snow-piled ground than this embroidered floor,
As though with blazing jewels covered o'er,
And yet whose radiant and illumined store
Is very dust and ashes spread in vain—
When breathes one breeze they're swept away again—
Winter! thy barrenness less shocks my sight
Than this sad mockery of a lost delight,
Come with thy frowning and o'ershadowing gloom,
And sweep the pompous gilding from the tomb!