University of Virginia Library

We had sat,
Day after day, my gentle friend and I,
On the rude door-step of the pleasant cottage;
And all the time, the blessed smile of Heaven
Was stealing to our hearts, and filling them
With its own silent gladness. We had heard
The last warm, fragrant sigh of parting Summer—
The last light rustle of her lovely robe,
That fluttered in the Autumn-breeze, before
The lingerer spread her bright, unwilling wings:
We saw her sunny glances fade away
From the fair meadows she so seemed to love,—
The graceful wooded hills and streams, that laugh'd
Like light, beneath the glory of her eye.
Thus Fancy taught us then to gaze and listen,
For Fancy is a fairy, that can hear,
Ever, the melody of Nature's voice,
And see all lovely visions that she will.
She drew a picture of a beauteous bird,
With plumes of radiant green and gold inwoven,
Banished from its beloved resting-place,
And fluttering, in vain hope, from tree to tree,
And bade us think, how like it, the sweet season
From one bright shelter to another fled:
First, from the maple waved her emerald pinions,
But lingered still upon the oak and elm,
Till, frightened by rude breezes, even from them,
With mournful sigh, she moan'd her sad farewell!
And now came Autumn, like a gorgeous king,
With mantle many-hued, of changeful light,
And golden crown—the harvest-moon his sceptre.
No more we sat, as we were wont, at eve,
On the rude door-step of the pleasant cottage,
For all too frail as yet the trembling rose,
Fanned by the breath of Summer into life,
On Anna's cheek—that cheek so pale of late!
Fondly we nursed the flower, and dared not let
The voice of Autumn whisper to our treasure
Too rudely, lest he'd scare that bloom away:
Yet gay within the evening went, and oft
Our circle parted for another friend—
Another voice our pleasant converse joined.

I wish I could recal, in his own words,
A story told by one, who sometimes came:
He had been wandering in a wood at sunset;
Two little, careless girls, just come from school,
Were standing mute beside a silent stream;
The eldest looked, with deep blue eyes, intent
Upon her graceful work—an oak-leaf wreath,
On which her little fingers glanced like snow,
While rapidly the pliant stems she twined,
A chain of glowing tints—crimson and brown,
And green and clouded gold—a brilliant toy!
And wreathed around her white, unshadowed forehead
Just such another rich-leafed coronal,
Mingled its rude and changeful beauty there
With sunny, curling clusters of light hair,
That lay in wild waves on her neck and cheek:
The other watched the garland as it grew,
In patient joy and with a waiting smile,
For well she knew 'twas for her own sweet brow.
Meanwhile, the sun hung lingering o'er the scene,
As if he loved to look on loveliness!
And in the clear, still stream, with radiant pencil,
Pictured the pretty creatures as they stood!
Careless, unconscious, silent with delight,
Their small straw bonnets flung among the leaves,
And they, unheeding of the parting day,
Thinking of nothing but their own sweet play!