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Ballad--- Why is the Spanish maiden's O how art thou fallen, thou city of God 940
446 O melancholy bird, a winter's day 396
Our slavery is finished, our labour is done 88
164 Oxford prize poem
Poet's thanks, by Barton
Pyramus and Thisbe, a ballad
Song of a fallen angel, imitation of Moore 41
The three mighty.
There is no smile to answer thine
The deepest snow will drop away
129 The ring you gave, the kiss you gave 292
945 The dead babe
322 To a bird that baunted the waters 396
BOSTON, OCTOBER 1, 1823.
(Blackwood's Mag.) AUTUMNAL MEDITATIONS.
Amid the stillness of an Autumn eve,
Sacred to nusing is the Autumn eve,
Scarcely a month bath past, since last I stood
The faded woods a sallow livery wear ;
How passing ! and the changes of the earth.2 ATHENEUM VOL. 14.
In May, that fence was sprinkled with white flowers
It is a lone and melancholy scene Of sickness, stillness, and forlorn decay ! A natural sermon to the heart of man, A beautiful memento of the grave !Lo! as I pass, from off the tall scathed ash The raven startled, takes to flight, and wings Its lonely way to the mid wood ; more deep Eve's shadow fall, till the green hills become Blue, and o'ermantled with a hazy tinct. The spaniel from my foot starts forth, as if Some sound had lured him, and, with fore-paws placed On rising turf, he stands : thence, with raised ears, Looks from th attentive : from the moors, dim-seen, Region of wild thyme, broom, and heather green, With wearied pointers twain, the sportsman comes ; His gun sloped o'er his shoulder, and his bag Heavy with slaughter'd game : On he pursues, With laggard step, his journey, travel-worn, And weary for the glittering star of home, The blazing hearth, where, o'er his evening meal, And cheering cup, of marvels he proclaims, Seen on the mountain, and of wondrous seats Perform'd; the covey scatter'd, and the hare Shot at far distance, 'mid the wither'd gorse. Over the rutted road the empty wane Homeward is driven ; and, at far intervals, Towards yon low village, wends the husbandman, Slow sauntering by :-With a wild, wailing shriek, Heard from above, the white-mew, with slow wing, Drops downward to the sea-shore, and is met On high, by wild-geese flock, on journey bent Far inland, flying wedge-wise, and drawn up In regular files, as if for marshall'd war. Well it accords, at such a pensive hour, When from the southern sky with beauteous beam Shines dewy Hesper ; and the far-off hills Have sombred all their tints of greenery, In solitude to ponder o'er the thoughts Of childhood, and of boyhood, and of youth, And all the magic of departed years To conjure up the brighi Elysian dreams That hovered round, and cheated the warm heart, (As in Arabia's central plains, the sands, Like waters gleam, mocking the pilgrim's eye ;) To see again the faces that around Life's path then throng'd, in sunny joyfulness, And now are scatter'd o'er the wide round world, Or, slumbering in the silence of the grave, Are to its murmurs deaf, its praises lost ;Well it accords, then, in a fond review, To summon forth the heart's long-banish'd loves, The young affections that decoy'd the soul,Beauty's warm check, and Friendship's laughing eye : In fond review to dwell upon the scenes