 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
79
A LAY OF AUTUMN.
The sylph of the rainbow wing has come!
In the forest-bowers she has made her home,
Where the bending Beach, in his vest of gold,
Is a warder true to her castle-hold,
And the maples stand in their robes of pride
Where the aster leans o'er the streamlets tide
Tall, kingly heralds, that lead her train,
Ere summer's glories have left the plain.
In the forest-bowers she has made her home,
Where the bending Beach, in his vest of gold,
Is a warder true to her castle-hold,
And the maples stand in their robes of pride
Where the aster leans o'er the streamlets tide
Tall, kingly heralds, that lead her train,
Ere summer's glories have left the plain.
You may trace her steps on the mountain's brow,
Ere the frost-king stoops to the vales below;
And the fall of the leaves when the wind is high,
Seems a host to the conflict marching by,
With the clarion's peal and the bugle's blast,
And their blood-red flags to the free air cast,
While the earth and sky, at the day's decline,
Seem to blend in beauty their hues divine!
Ere the frost-king stoops to the vales below;
And the fall of the leaves when the wind is high,
Seems a host to the conflict marching by,
With the clarion's peal and the bugle's blast,
And their blood-red flags to the free air cast,
While the earth and sky, at the day's decline,
Seem to blend in beauty their hues divine!
80
Though sere the grass on the hills is seen,
You can trace the rill by its marge of green,
And choked with leaves in its rippling flow,
Where the coral heads of the spice-bush glow.
But oh! what glory pervades the earth
At evening's close and at morning's birth,
When the calm sun looks through the hazy sky
And a dreamy quiet on all doth lie.
You can trace the rill by its marge of green,
And choked with leaves in its rippling flow,
Where the coral heads of the spice-bush glow.
But oh! what glory pervades the earth
At evening's close and at morning's birth,
When the calm sun looks through the hazy sky
And a dreamy quiet on all doth lie.
I mourn not because the summer flowers
Have long since died in their rifled bowers—
That the verdant wealth of the summer trees
Is now the sport of the autumn breeze;
For the gay, green woods and the sky's blue dome
But linked the heart to its earthly home,
Bid earthly thoughts in the soul arise
And chained it back from its native skies!
Have long since died in their rifled bowers—
That the verdant wealth of the summer trees
Is now the sport of the autumn breeze;
For the gay, green woods and the sky's blue dome
But linked the heart to its earthly home,
Bid earthly thoughts in the soul arise
And chained it back from its native skies!
Oh! the solemn calm of the autumn time
Wakes feelings high of a faith sublime!
The mild, soft light to the broad earth given,
Brings back to the soul its dreams of heaven;
In the purple woods, the west wind's breath
In sighings low, tells of change and death—
The strains of mirth it awakes no more,
But teaches the spirit a sadder lore.
Wakes feelings high of a faith sublime!
The mild, soft light to the broad earth given,
Brings back to the soul its dreams of heaven;
In the purple woods, the west wind's breath
In sighings low, tells of change and death—
The strains of mirth it awakes no more,
But teaches the spirit a sadder lore.
81
In the glowing forest, from men afar,
I sit and muse, 'neath the twilight star;
Earth's fettering bonds no more control
But an angel speaks to my eager soul,
Who tells of Hope and of Love and Truth,
And breathes their flame in the heart of youth:
Oh! I love and cherish the autumn time,
For its teachings high and its lore sublime!
I sit and muse, 'neath the twilight star;
Earth's fettering bonds no more control
But an angel speaks to my eager soul,
Who tells of Hope and of Love and Truth,
And breathes their flame in the heart of youth:
Oh! I love and cherish the autumn time,
For its teachings high and its lore sublime!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |