y gate.
If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before
I turn away; it is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe,
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;
I answer not, and I return no more.

The date of first appearance of this sonnet is not known to the
editors. It is extracted here from Professor A.L. Perry's
_Williamstown and Williams College_, (1899), and of it Dr. Perry
remarks "Ingalls also wrote a notable sonnet on 'Opportunity,' which
will no doubt survive, for it has a fine form and considerable
literary merit, though godless in every line."

AUTUMN

JAMES A. GARFIELD '56[1]

Old Autumn thou art here! upon the Earth
And in the heavens, the signs of death are hung;
For o'er the Earth's brown breast stalks pale decay,
And 'mong the lowering clouds the wild winds wail,
And, sighing sadly, chant the solemn dirge
O'er summer's fairest flowers, all faded now.
The Winter god, descending from the skies,
Has reached the mountain tops, and decked their brows
With glittering frosty crowns, and breathed his breath
Among the trumpet pines, that herald forth
His coming.

Before the driving blast
The mountain oak bows down his hoary head,
And flings his withered locks to the rough gales
That fiercely roar among the branches bare,
Uplifted to the dark unpitying heavens.
The skies have put their mourning garments on
And hung their funeral drapery on the clouds.
Dead Nature soon will wear her shroud of snow
And lie entombed in Winter's icy grave.

Thus passes life. As hoary age comes on
The joys of youth--bright beauties of the spring,
Grow dim and faded, and the long dark night
Of Death's chill Winter comes. But as the spring
Rebuilds the ruined wrecks of Winter's waste,
And cheers the gloomy earth with joyous light,
So o'er the tomb, the Star of Hope shall rise,
And usher in an ever during day.

_Quarterly_, 1854.

[Footnote 1: Died 1881.]

IN THE FOREST

ANON.

We lie beneath the forest shade
Whose sunny tremors dapple us;
She is a proud-eyed Grecian maid
And I am Sardanapalus;
A king uncrowned whose sole allegiance
Resides in dusky forest regions.

How cool and liquid seems the sky;
How blue and still the distance is!
White fleets of clo