 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
165
CONCLUSION.
The showery eve is closing fast,
Sullen and sad the fitful blast
Sweeps o'er the forest bough;
And Autumn from her lonely heath,
Can scarcely cull a flower to wreathe
Her dark and joyless brow.
Sullen and sad the fitful blast
Sweeps o'er the forest bough;
And Autumn from her lonely heath,
Can scarcely cull a flower to wreathe
Her dark and joyless brow.
The deer is couching in the glade,
The grey owl from her piny shade
Sails through the falling gloom;
Whilst, eager for her golden store,
The mountain-bee yet lingers o'er
The wild-flower's scentless bloom.
The grey owl from her piny shade
Sails through the falling gloom;
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The mountain-bee yet lingers o'er
The wild-flower's scentless bloom.
Sweet murmurer! from the tangled dell
Return, and to thy fragrant cell
Thy latest tribute bring;
Thy path is wildered in the wood,
And dewy night-winds, chill and rude,
Ruffle thy wearied wing.
Return, and to thy fragrant cell
Thy latest tribute bring;
Thy path is wildered in the wood,
And dewy night-winds, chill and rude,
Ruffle thy wearied wing.
The mornings, flushed with rosy light,
That first allured thy summer-flight
To mountain, moor, and wave,
Are faded with the flowers of blue
That bending in thy quest, their dew
Of richest nectar gave.
That first allured thy summer-flight
To mountain, moor, and wave,
Are faded with the flowers of blue
That bending in thy quest, their dew
Of richest nectar gave.
And shattered by the waning year,
The wood's wild berries, red and sere,
And leaves no longer green,
Are floating on the turbid tide,
That rudely rushing, flows beside
Thy full-fraught magazine.
The wood's wild berries, red and sere,
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Are floating on the turbid tide,
That rudely rushing, flows beside
Thy full-fraught magazine.
When in thy moss-inwoven nest,
Thy languid frame from toil shall rest,
In peaceful slumber bound;
Perchance the pilgrim passing by,
Who heard thy summer-melody,
And blessed the soothing sound;
Thy languid frame from toil shall rest,
In peaceful slumber bound;
Perchance the pilgrim passing by,
Who heard thy summer-melody,
And blessed the soothing sound;
Though not to that rude sound belong
The sweeter stream of Attic song,
Mellifluous, clear, refined;—
May spare thy rich, ambrosial cell,
In memory of the transient spell
That charmed his wayward mind.
The sweeter stream of Attic song,
Mellifluous, clear, refined;—
May spare thy rich, ambrosial cell,
In memory of the transient spell
That charmed his wayward mind.
168
So in the purple light of Spring,
Again thy wild, thy tender wing
May seek the honied flower,
To cull thy sweet and fragrant spoils,
And consecrate with duteous toils,
Life's short and valued hour.
Again thy wild, thy tender wing
May seek the honied flower,
To cull thy sweet and fragrant spoils,
And consecrate with duteous toils,
Life's short and valued hour.
| Poems by Three Friends | |