The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow illustrated : vol. IV : poetical works volume one : earlier poems : translations : The Spanish student and other poems |
 |
AN EVENING IN AUTUMN |
 | The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |  |
AN EVENING IN AUTUMN
It was the season when the summer sun
Grows less intense, when the pure temperate air
Invites us, as the toils of day are done,
To holy thought, and all our feelings wear
A solemn stillness. A fair sylvan scene
With shadowy outline, like a painted screen
Grows less intense, when the pure temperate air
Invites us, as the toils of day are done,
To holy thought, and all our feelings wear
A solemn stillness. A fair sylvan scene
With shadowy outline, like a painted screen
Shut out the noisy world. The forest leaf
Put on the burnish'd livery of the fall,
The sickle lay beside the garner'd sheaf,
The mower's scythe hung idly on the wall;
And stretch'd at ease beneath the loaded mow,
Reposing labor wip'd his sun burnt brow.
Put on the burnish'd livery of the fall,
The sickle lay beside the garner'd sheaf,
The mower's scythe hung idly on the wall;
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Reposing labor wip'd his sun burnt brow.
It was vacation time, and studious care
Had lain the weary volume on its shelf;
The mind was free to range the bright pure air,
To breathe, disburden and unbend itself,
And like an uncag'd bird to soar on high,
A denizen of the unbounded sky.
Had lain the weary volume on its shelf;
The mind was free to range the bright pure air,
To breathe, disburden and unbend itself,
And like an uncag'd bird to soar on high,
A denizen of the unbounded sky.
Calmly the evening fell, and o'er the soul
Its holy influence came. The summer wind
Was scarcely audible, as its whisper stole
At intervals through the half open'd blind,
With a soft music like the sounds that swell
In the bright chambers of the wreathed shell.
Its holy influence came. The summer wind
Was scarcely audible, as its whisper stole
At intervals through the half open'd blind,
With a soft music like the sounds that swell
In the bright chambers of the wreathed shell.
And then anon it freshen'd, and without
The woodland wav'd its many rustling leaves,
And raised its arms aloft, and with a shout
Heaved upwards, as the troubled ocean heaves,
And like a bark upon the billow's breast
Rock'd to and fro the wild bird's little nest.
The woodland wav'd its many rustling leaves,
And raised its arms aloft, and with a shout
Heaved upwards, as the troubled ocean heaves,
And like a bark upon the billow's breast
Rock'd to and fro the wild bird's little nest.
All the day long the gently dropping rain
Had fallen, and the clouds hung dark and low;
But now their shadowy veil was raised again,
As the fresh evening breeze began to blow,
And through the dripping leaves, and the blue haze
That fill'd the woodland scene, in one wide blaze
Had fallen, and the clouds hung dark and low;
But now their shadowy veil was raised again,
As the fresh evening breeze began to blow,
And through the dripping leaves, and the blue haze
That fill'd the woodland scene, in one wide blaze
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Of gorgeous splendor stream'd the setting sun,
And made the forest walks and alleys green,
Bright with his presence. The glad brook, that ran
Down the slant upland, flash'd in silver sheen,
The wet leaves glisten'd, every bending spear
Of grass shone bright, and the wide atmosphere
And made the forest walks and alleys green,
Bright with his presence. The glad brook, that ran
Down the slant upland, flash'd in silver sheen,
The wet leaves glisten'd, every bending spear
Of grass shone bright, and the wide atmosphere
Seem'd slow descending in a golden shower,
As if the fable of mythology
Had then become, through some mysterious power,
A palpable creation, to the eye
Of the external and corporeal sense
Made visible and distinct. ...
As if the fable of mythology
Had then become, through some mysterious power,
A palpable creation, to the eye
Of the external and corporeal sense
Made visible and distinct. ...
Farewell, the setting sun! lo he has made
His grave beneath the hills, but he shall rise,
Wearing a brighter garment, and the shade
Pass like a phantom from before our eyes.
So shall the dead ascend from realms of night,
Wearing immortal crowns and clothed in light.
His grave beneath the hills, but he shall rise,
Wearing a brighter garment, and the shade
Pass like a phantom from before our eyes.
So shall the dead ascend from realms of night,
Wearing immortal crowns and clothed in light.
Th' unshadow'd splendor of the eternal ray
Pierces the gloom of death; the very tomb
Is radiant with its brightness, and the way
In which the spirit walks through earthly gloom
Heavenward grows brighter on the unseal'd eye.
And leads us to the mercy seat on high.
Pierces the gloom of death; the very tomb
Is radiant with its brightness, and the way
In which the spirit walks through earthly gloom
Heavenward grows brighter on the unseal'd eye.
And leads us to the mercy seat on high.
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And if in worlds, that lie beyond our own,
The spirit, when it sees its trembling light
Replenish'd from the blaze of God's own throne,
Can bend itself from that celestial height,
And like a guardian angel of this sphere,
Revisit those it left in sorrow here,
The spirit, when it sees its trembling light
Replenish'd from the blaze of God's own throne,
Can bend itself from that celestial height,
And like a guardian angel of this sphere,
Revisit those it left in sorrow here,
Oft in that holy hour, when day has fled,
The spirit of some dear departed friend
Has hover'd round me, and in whispers said,
That when life's transient dream was at an end,
Those that had loved in life should meet again,
Where there was neither sorrow, death, nor pain.
The spirit of some dear departed friend
Has hover'd round me, and in whispers said,
That when life's transient dream was at an end,
Those that had loved in life should meet again,
Where there was neither sorrow, death, nor pain.
| The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |