"Tis their being, hope and life; See the eddying tempest wheel! How it swells and stills! High above its brazen van Juts-behind it roars Wind, hail, thunder-what is man, When the deluge pours! AUTUMN. My horn is overflowing, My fruits all red, And not a wind is blowing, But sweets have fed. The vineyard slope is gushing With purple wine, And amber streams are rushing From every vine. Near hill to far blue mountain, Low vale and plain, Wide lake and rock-built fountain, My song of joy repeat again. Young girls beside their lovers Its yellow foliage covers Love's softest twine. With loaded baskets reeling They home return; And when the dance is wheeling, Black eyes-they burn. Io, Io triumphe! The pæans swell; And now their nectar flowing, That gush of joy, O! who can tell. WINTER. Below me rings the lake, Shout and carol, jest and boast, Send thy keenest arrows, Frost! We will give thee song. The east is growing bright, The crystal forest flashes, And in the dawning light, Rock and river, tree and fountain, Glitter thick with gems; Rolling hill and craggy mountain Glow like diadems. THE FEMALES OF GREECE TO THOSE OF AMERICA. BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. In the early hours of morning unite in your prayers to the Most High for suffering Greece. LETTER FROM SYRA, AUG. 13, 1828. BLEST dwellers on a holy shore, Sisters! whose happy lot is cast In shelter safe from storm and blast, Who drink at freedom's sacred stream, O! think, and pour the prayer of morn. Sex! who by sufferings of your own, Ordain'd in bitterness to bear Burdens which none, save heaven, may share, With pangs that man can ne'er repay, To wipe the babe's first tear away; |