 | Benoni |  |
252
AUTUMN.
The harvest is past and the summer is ending,
And the glooms that betoken the tempest appear;
And fast from their lairs the marauders are wending
That harass and prey on the desolate year:
And the glooms that betoken the tempest appear;
And fast from their lairs the marauders are wending
That harass and prey on the desolate year:
Nor less, in the heart, is her loveliness perish'd
And her hopes are in tears at the voice of the storm;
Nor less, of the toys that her folly hath cherish'd,
The sorrow disheartens, the evils deform.
And her hopes are in tears at the voice of the storm;
Nor less, of the toys that her folly hath cherish'd,
The sorrow disheartens, the evils deform.
There is corn yet untouch'd on the slopes of the highlands—
The warm woods are green in their nests by the hill—
There are flowers and ferns on the bright little islands—
For the autumn of Nature is beautiful still:
The warm woods are green in their nests by the hill—
There are flowers and ferns on the bright little islands—
For the autumn of Nature is beautiful still:
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But who shall break open our weed-ridden fallows,
And who shall restore us our excellence whole?
And where is the chrysom that cleanses and hallows
The stains that ferment in the breast of the soul?
And who shall restore us our excellence whole?
And where is the chrysom that cleanses and hallows
The stains that ferment in the breast of the soul?
Ah well for the hearts that have ever been fair, and
Have cool'd into forms that owe nothing to sin—
With scarcely a speck in the mellow transparent
To tell that contagion has trespass'd within!
Have cool'd into forms that owe nothing to sin—
With scarcely a speck in the mellow transparent
To tell that contagion has trespass'd within!
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