Minor Poems, including Napoleon :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis Autumn! and the short'ning day,
The chilly evening's sober gray,
And winds that hoarser blow;
The fading foliage of the trees,
Which rustles sere in every breeze,
The approach of Winter show.

II

Adieu to those more cheerful hours,
Spent amid Spring's unfolding flowers,
Or Summer's soothing shade;
A few short weeks, — and then adieu
To fields and groves of changeful hue,
By Autumn's hand array'd!

III

But welcome — welcome unto Thee!
Whose undisputed sov'reignty
Must briefly be confess'd;
Who, though thou wear'st a look austere,
Of all the seasons of the year
By me art lov'd the best.

IV

I own that I shall somewhat miss
The quiet and secluded bliss
Autumnal eves supply:
When meadow, valley, hill, and grove,
Disclose, to those who o'er them rove,
A harvest for the eye!

V

And deeper is the hush'd delight,
When, with her mild and mellowing light,
The full-orb'd moon on high
In gentle majesty comes forth,
Shedding her beauty on the earth,
Her glory through the sky.

VI

Yes; I have felt the charm serene,
Yielded by such delightful scene;
Yet not the less I prize,
Stern Winter! pleasures all thy own,
Or which, in fullest zest, are known
Beneath thy frowning skies.

VII

Even abroad, thy short-liv'd day
At times will loveliness display,
To me as truly dear,
As that, more palpable to sense,
Spring, Summer, Autumn, can dispense,
To deck the changeful year.

VIII

How beautiful thy frosty morn,
When brilliants gem each feathery thorn!
How fair thy cloudless noon!
And through the leafless trees, at night,
With more than Summer's soften'd light,
Shines thy resplendent moon.

100

IX

To me thy snowy landscapes teem
With beauty, though no sunny beam
Illume their aspect chill;
They have a beauty to the heart;
In the deep quiet they impart
Stillness appears more still!

X

But thou hast other joys than these,
Which they can scarcely fail to seize
Who most improve thy sway;
Joys which are found and felt within,
And home-born pleasures, that begin
With thy departing day.

XI

Thou gath'rest round the cheerful fire
Daughter and Mother, Son and Sire;
Names which themselves express
Some of our nature's dearest ties;
Whose influence to the heart supplies
Its choicest happiness.

101

XII

Yes; “King of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments!” stormy nights
But aid thy potent thrall;
Thou holdest then thy regal court,
With tale and converse, laugh and sport,
Christmas, thy Carnival!

XIII

But from each jocund festive scene,
Whose charms delightfully have been
Described in many a strain,
I turn me to the silent cell
Of him who feels that hidden spell
Which binds the Muses' train.

XIV

Look in that room, if it may be
So term'd, where little room we see;
And mark the medley there;
With scraps of paper, scribbled o'er,
Strew'd are the table, desk, and floor,
And one else vacant chair.

102

XV

Its master in the other sits;
Ransacks his memory, racks his wits
For simile, or rhyme;
Now writes a line, now rubs it out;
Now o'er another hangs in doubt;
Nor heeds, nor thinks of time.

XVI

Turn'st thou from such a scene with scorn,
Reader! or does such lot forlorn
Thy sympathy awake?
The former he would scarcely heed;
The latter might too fondly feed
A flame 'twere wise to slake.

XVII

'Tis past the noon of night, and yet
He seems, while writing, to forget
The silent lapse of hours;
And that a tenement of clay,
Prone to derangement and decay,
Contains his mental powers.

103

XVIII

But he is happy, for the time,
Thus bodying forth in simple rhyme
Feelings and thoughts, which seem
To bring before his spirit's eye
Scenes, objects, persons, long gone by,
Each, in its turn, his theme.

XIX

Not “cribb'd in, cabin'd, and confin'd,”
By that small closet's bounds, his mind,
In winter's long dark night,
Unfolds its wings; and fancy flies
Where landscapes, under summer-skies,
Bask in its sunshine bright.

XX

Perhaps some haunt, to boyhood dear,
Unvisited for many a year,
In fancy he surveys;
Or, dearer still, he seems to greet
Those whom in thought 'tis joy to meet,
The friends of former days.

104

XXI

He holds delightful converse, too,
With some whom he no more may view,
The lov'd, the long-since dead;
Yet such exist to him, thus brought
Before the vision of his thought,
Though they from earth are fled.

XXII

What is to him, in such an hour,
The frown which may hereafter lower
Upon a critic's brow?
It then may mortify his pride,
Or be with keener pangs supplied;
But it is harmless now.

XXIII

For he but fancies, now, how such
A thought, or sentiment, may touch
The fancy, or the heart
Of friend, or more than friend, from whom
He, by life's chance, or darker doom,
Has long liv'd far apart.

105

XXIV

Perhaps a half-encourag'd thrill
Of hope, more elevated still,
May cause a transient glow;
Thoughts undefinable, which seek
For words in vain; he dares not speak
Of what to him they show.

XXV

They whisper to his willing ear,
(Whose could be clos'd to sounds so dear?)
That when his mortal frame
Shall be to kindred dust consign'd,
He yet may hope to leave behind
The relic of a name!

XXVI

A name, not held in splendid trust
By trophied urn, or sculptur'd bust,
'Mid statesmen's, chiefs', and kings',—
But one that some few hearts may prize,
When death has darkly seal'd his eyes,
Among their cherish'd things.

106

XXVII

Not as the name of one who soar'd
To realms or regions unexplor'd;
But who was well content
To trace those humbler veins of thought
And feeling, which to him were fraught
With pleasures innocent.

XXVIII

And thus is he absorb'd, and this
To him is intellectual bliss;
By sympathy intense
To feel that intercourse which binds
Heart unto heart; with other minds
To hold intelligence.

XXIX

“Luckless enthusiast! enjoy,
As best thou mayst, thy fond employ;
Give thought and fancy scope:
Explore imagination's source;
And hold delightful intercourse
With that sweet flatterer—Hope!

107

XXX

“But know thou this! the dreams that bless
These hours of silent loneliness,
So cherish'd by thy heart—
Have little in them to engage
Those who, on life's more busy stage,
Perform an active part.

XXXI

“Can retrospections of the past,
Before existence was o'ercast
By vain anxiety,
Be priz'd by any, but the few
Who oft look back, with pensive view,
To cloudless infancy?

XXXII

“Can those lov'd haunts, which muse of thine
Would give in artless verse to shine,
By tourists all unknown;
Delightful as they are to thee,
In other eyes expect to be
Lovely, as in thine own?

108

XXXIII

“Can passions chasten'd, feelings curb'd,
Thoughts, by no feverish dreams disturb'd,
Aspire to gratify
Those, whom 'twere easier to beguile
By writhing lips, demoniac smile,
And lightning of the eye?

XXXIV

“Or, ‘last, not least;’ what chance is thine
'Mid loftier votaries of the Nine,
Who fill the trump of Fame;
That thou the idle wish shouldst own,
By rank, wealth, fashion, all unknown,
To raise thyself a name?

XXXV

“Resign the bootless task! nor keep
Those wakeful eyes from balmy sleep;
Leave, leave thy close-pent room!
Curtail not thy brief span of life,
By useless, thankless, hopeless strife;
Oblivion is thy doom!

109

XXXVI

“But 'tis in vain! Then fare thee well!
I can but mourn that such a spell
Resistless seems to be:
Yet, since it is so, may thy toil
Repay thee with an ampler spoil
Than mine e'er brought to me.

XXXVII

“And may those purer hopes, that cheer
Thy winter evenings, else most drear,
Not pass like phantoms by;
But mayst thou, when to earth consign'd,
Some blameless record leave behind,
Which shall not wholly die!”