Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun The o'erlaboured captive toil, and wish his life were done. Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, Have put their glory on. The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the`mingled splendours glow, My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,— Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; The valleys sick with heat? Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright? Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze, Twinkles, like beams of light. The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen, And glimmerings of the sun. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad; Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed For ever in thy coloured shades to stray; To rove and dream for aye; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power, MUTATION. A SONNET. THEY talk of short-lived pleasure-be it so- And after dreams of horror, comes again Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease: Are fruits of innocence and blessedness: Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press. Weep not that the world changes-did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep. |