AUTUMN. WITH What a glory comes and goes the year! There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary. The golden robin moves. Through the trees That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. Oh, what a glory doth this world put on Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death WOODS IN WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Line 11. And through the white-thorn blows the gale, Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day! But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear I listen, and it cheers me long. HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM. AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. This poem was suggested by the following sentence in an article upon Count Casimir Pulaski in the North American Review for April, 1825: "The standard of his legion was formed of a piece of crimson silk embroidered by the Moravian nuns of Bethlehem in Pennsylvania." The historical basis of the poem is discussed in a note at the end of this volume. WHEN the dying flame of day Line 7. And gathered winds, in hoarse accord, The crimson banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. "Take thy banner! May it wave "Take thy banner! and, beneath "Take thy banner! But when night Spare him he our love hath shared ! Spare him as thou wouldst be spared! Line 1. The blood-red banner, that with prayer "Take thy banner! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, The warrior took that banner proud, SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Line 7. And the warrior took that banner proud, |