Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
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STANZAS TO AUTUMN. |
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 | Poems and Songs |  |
331
STANZAS TO AUTUMN.
There is a melancholy song
Comes from yon aged tree;
It tells of summer days now fled,
Of flow'rets dying all, or dead,
Of leaves that withered be.
Comes from yon aged tree;
It tells of summer days now fled,
Of flow'rets dying all, or dead,
Of leaves that withered be.
The primrose of the dewy spring,
The rose of summer gay,
The lily by the shining stream,
And moorland hare-bell, like a dream,
Have vanish'd all away.
The rose of summer gay,
The lily by the shining stream,
And moorland hare-bell, like a dream,
Have vanish'd all away.
The mournful winds of autumn come
In sadness on the blast;
And every leaf they bear along
Joins in the melancholy song,
That summer hours are past.
In sadness on the blast;
And every leaf they bear along
Joins in the melancholy song,
That summer hours are past.
And save that plaintive strain, that seems
A requiem for the flowers,
No music wakens in the grove,
No birds chant forth their notes of love,
In summer's sunny bowers.
A requiem for the flowers,
No music wakens in the grove,
No birds chant forth their notes of love,
In summer's sunny bowers.
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But not thy song, thou lonely bird,
Though mournful be thy song,
Is half so sad, or half so drear,
As autumn's moaning voice to hear
The rustling leaves among.
Though mournful be thy song,
Is half so sad, or half so drear,
As autumn's moaning voice to hear
The rustling leaves among.
And yet ere long, sweet bird, thou'lt sing
A glad and happy strain,
When, from the gentle budding spring,
The smiling sun shall flow'rets bring
To beauty back again.
A glad and happy strain,
When, from the gentle budding spring,
The smiling sun shall flow'rets bring
To beauty back again.
But I must mourn a flow'ret fallen,
Whose presence charms no more:—
No spring, when balmy breezes blow,
Nor summer sun—my flow'ret low,
To gladness shall restore!
Whose presence charms no more:—
No spring, when balmy breezes blow,
Nor summer sun—my flow'ret low,
To gladness shall restore!
Then welcome autumn's wailing song,
Or winter's sullen gloom;
The dark, the joyless, and the drear,
Best suits with those which nought can cheer,
Whose heart is in the tomb!
Or winter's sullen gloom;
The dark, the joyless, and the drear,
Best suits with those which nought can cheer,
Whose heart is in the tomb!
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