University of Virginia Library

'T is a sweet eve in autumn! The blue sky
Of that blest season of the soul soars up
In its pure beauty, while the winnowing breeze,
Free from the charter of man's privilege,
Wanders where'er it listeth, o'er the earth,
Breathing the life of life o'er all that feels.
From the vast swell of sunset glory comes
A broad, deep, all-pervading gush of light,
A blaze of immortality, that bears
The spirit upward as on seraph wings,
That wave in the dim vision of our dreams.

O'er yon fair Isle of Sycamores—o'er all
The rugged Laurel mountains, whose dark cliffs
Pierce the deep azure and throw back their forms,
Uncouth and vast, against the sleeping sky,
Like the heroic warriors of old time
Reposing on soft bosoms;—o'er the woods,
That crown the toppling peak and down the vale
Sweep like a long array of visions past;
O'er the broad waters of Potomac, now
Slumbering in shadowy cavities, and now
Hurrying o'er arrowy shelves, like a proud steed
Appointed to the battle;—o'er the earth,
With all its beauties, and the bending heaven,
With all its glories, pours the godlike sun
His sea of light, and the ethereal heart mounts up
To catch the inspiration of his smile,
As a sweet child climbs to its father's bosom
To meet his kiss, whose blood through every vein
Rejoices, and whose eye reveals his soul.
The sunlight fades; the purple clouds assume
The changeful violet—the dusky rose,
The gray of mountain rocks; and now the breeze,
Enters their twilight tents and they are gone—
Where our thoughts vanish—where our hopes become
Phantoms of fear—where evening winds are born,
And sever'd souls depart!—Sage! canst thou tell?

In the deep hush of her solemnities
The crescent moon comes forth mid chequering clouds,
That o'er the aspect of her beauty throw
A picturesque romance—an ideal charm—
A visible music and an eloquence,
Like the deep pulses of the bosom heard
In forest-depths, when by the river bank,
And wooded hill and thymy valley sleep
The echo fairies and the water nymphs.
—Ye ties inscrutable, that link our hearts
To the deep solitudes of rock-barr'd dells,
And hoary hills and ever-flowing streams
And valleys breathing quiet! Let me catch
The spirit of your silent sanctity,
And learn to bear the burden of men's talk
With an invisible though haughty scorn,
That, like a mirror, shows them what they are.—
Through sombre hanging woods, on either bank,
O'er tiny waterfalls, on right and left,
Down roars a mighty river, whose deep voice
Ascends in one eternal hymn of praise.
—Mysterious Life! whose evidence is Power,
Or in the voice that uttereth oracles,
Or in the solemn sound that hath no words,
Thou dost pervade all Nature, the deep sea,
The craggy mountain and the heart of man;
And art a glory—whether, from thy touch,
The insect's little wings of pictured hues
Float on the air, or whether, at thy voice,
The fearless eagle's sun-affronting eye
Marks out his prey;—alike thy power is felt
When the soft flame sheds blessings round the hearth,
And when the Volcan pillars midnight skies.—
Through skirting woods and sundered rocks sublime
The waters hold their turbulent career
Mid broken crags and promontories high
O'erarching, since that hour of miracle,
When the vast Sea of their imprisoned waves,
Repellant at their bondage, in their strength
Rose up, and swept the mountain from its throne,
And to the ocean in their might went down,
Like Death to Armageddon's war of Doom.
How beautiful the moonlight (while we stand
On Monticello's Rock) upon thy stream
Bubbling in eddies, or in azure sleep,
Lifting its solemn music, or beside
The lofty bank reposing, while the trees
Scatter their sear leaves on its calm expanse!
How sweet to catch the hum of voices down
The peopled street—the mirth of happy hearts—
The blessed music of our daily life,
While the proud anthem of the waters swells
Upon the evening breeze, and forests join
The glorious hymn with melodies of leaves!

'T is such a night as gentle hearts desire;
'T is like the mellow courtesies of life,
A silent soother; and the low faint breeze
Steals through the firwood and the piny copse
With those deep, tender, solemn whisperings,
That stir the heart like music. From the sky
The stars look down with cheerly modest eyes,
That beam the truest oracles of joys
To gladden after years, so lovely now
That the worn heart no longer feels its woes,
Or discontent or dark-browed melancholy.

Those miscreations and repugnancies,
Those cold repellings of unuttered scorn,
Those ingenuities of suffering,
That oft, in the thronged world, become a part
And portion of our being, enter not
The mansions of the spirit, when it seeks
The fountain-springs of life and drinketh there
The waters of its purity, amid
The still and hallowed sabbath of the heart.
Here let me linger, like a pilgrim far,
From all he loves, and hold the feast of thought,
While jarring passions, like the desert winds,
Pass in the distance! Let my heart resume
The earlier kindness of its generous pulse,
And, stern to its own errings, render up
The prayer of charity for all that breathe!
Here let me think how far from Wisdom's path
And Truth's most pleasant places I have roamed,
And, with a heart of sorrow, look abroad
The world that sins when sin brings misery,
And peril, and a bitter bondage here,
And unacquainted woe in other worlds.

There is a time when sorrow on the soul
Hangs like the mortcloth on the shrouded Dead,
Deepening the darkness of death's mysteries;
When the barb rankles in the quickest depths
Of the dark bosom, and strange Shapes come forth
From Memory's pictured chamber to distort
And magnify our misery! But here
The pale serenities of floating stars,
The slumber of the solitary woods,
And the low gurgling gush of waters blue
Lift the glad heart into the realms of peace.