day calls forth at length,
The storm's electric fire,
That shatters the oak's imperial strength,
And bids the shrubs expire.
The cloud rolls off--and see! what pride!
A many colored bow,
Hangs on the cloud's retreating side,
And o'er the fields below.
Then, glorious summer flies away,
From upland, slope and plain;
And Autumn, crowned with shocks of hay,
Appears in joy again.
Old, jolly Autumn! happy man!
Wild tumbling on the meads;
We'll love thee, Autumn, as we can,
Thy glory is our needs.
Thou heapest our barns with plenty--thou
Art, sure our faithful friend;
And, in the aspect of thy brow,
Lovely and useful blend.
Thy golden hues recede at length,
And seem to sigh decay,
Till, thou, despoiled of life and strength,
Art borne, a corpse, away.
Wild, bleak, and blustering Winter wild,
Assumes the icy throne;
Deep snows upon the earth are piled,
And hushed is every tone.
The trees stand bare, bleak skeletons,
Of bodies once so fair,
And dirges, dirges, woeful ones,
Resound amid the air.
Bleak, winter wild! thy dreary scenes,
Have yet one modest flower;
The daisy finds some little greens,
Whereby she builds her bower.
The daisy is a preacher wise,
Whom heavenly robes array;
Each winter lives, and sweetly tries,
A loving word to say.
"Oh! man, amid thy darkest woe,
Some humble bliss remains;--
Then, let thy murmurings cease to flow,
And hush thy doleful strains."
It is the dawn. Faint crimson streaks
The dewy, orient sky,
Like virtue's blush, on maiden cheeks,
Ah! sweet and peerless dye.
At last--the sun, an Eastern king,
Comes forth in rested pride;
And soars, with bright and burning wing,
Above the hill and tide.
Above yon Blue Ridge, towering piles,
Uptorn by Nature's throe--
He speeds, he speeds, through myriad miles,
To his meridian glow.
The birds sink down, amid the copse,
And sing a feeble song;
At last, each sound, on sudden, stops,
And Silence holds the throng.
But Evening, comes, a sober maid,
With one bright, starry eye;
And throws her mantle--star-inlaid--
Upon the silent sky.
It is night's noon. How dark, how vast,
Yon boundless vault appears;
A shadow o'er the earth is cast,
That wakes the spirit's fears
How death-like hushed! all life seems dead,
Does Nature live at all?
Ah, truest symbol! it has said,
"The hush--the gloom--the Pall!"
Day is the varying life of Man,--
Some sunshine--clouds again--
N