FROM A POEM ENTITLED “A DAY IN

AUTUMN."

ONE ramble through the woods with me, Thou dear companion of my days,These mighty woods! how quietly

They sleep in Autumn's golden haze The gay leaves, twinkling in the breeze, Still to the forest branches cling; They lie like blossoms on the treesThe brightest blossoms of the spring. Flowers linger in each sheltered nook,

And still the cheerful song of bird, And murmur of the bee and brook,

Through all the quiet groves are heard.
And bell of kine, that, sauntering, browse,
And squirrel chirping as he hides
Where gorgeously, with crimson boughs,
The creeper clothes the oak's gray sides.
How mild the light in all the skies!

How balmily the south wind blows!
The smile of God around us lies,
His rest is in this deep repose.
These whispers of the flowing air,
These waters that in music fall,
These sounds of peaceful life declare
The Love that keeps and hushes all.

ON FINDING A FOUNTAIN IN A SE-
CLUDED PART OF A FOREST.

THREE hundred years are scarcely gone
Since, to the New World's virgin shore,
Crowds of rude men were pressing on
To range its boundless regions o'er.
Some bore the sword in bloody hands,

And sacked its helpless towns for spoil;
Some searched for gold the rivers' sands,
Or trenched the mountains' stubborn soil.
And some with higher purpose sought

Through forests wild and wastes uncouth-
Sought with long toil, yet found it not-
The fountain of eternal youth.

They said in some green valley, where
The foot of man had never trod,
There gushed a fountain bright and fair,
Up from the ever-verdant sod.

They there who drank should never know
Age with its weakness, pain, and gloom;
And from its brink the old should go
With youth's light step and radiant bloom.
Is not this fount so pure and sweet
Whose stainless current ripples o'er
The fringe of blossoms at my feet
The same those pilgrims sought of yore?

How brightly leap mid glittering sands
The living waters from below;
Oh, let me dip these lean brown hands,
Drink deep, and bathe my wrinkled brow;

And feel through every shrunken vein
The warm red blood flow swift and free,
Feel waking in my heart again

Youth's brightest hopes, youth's wildest glee 'Tis vain, for still the life-blood plays

With sluggish course through all my frame, The mirror of the pool betrays

My wrinkled visage still the same. And the sad spirit questions still

Must this warm frame, these limbs that yiclu To each light motion of the will,

Lie with the dull clods of the field? Has nature no renewing power

To drive the frost of age away? Has earth no fount, or herb, or flower,

Which man may taste and live for aye? Alas! for that unchanging state

Of youth and strength in vain we yearn, And only after death's dark gate

Is reached and passed, can youth return.

THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN.

IT was the glorious summer-time,
As on a hill I stood,

Amid a group of towering trees,
The patriarchs of the wood;
A lovely vale before me lay,
And on the golden air,
Crept the blue smoke in quiet trains
From roofs that clustered there.

I saw where, in my early years,
I passed the pleasant hours,
Beside the winding brook that still
Went prattling to its flowers;
And still, around my parent's home,
The slender poplars grew,

Whose glossy leaves were swayed and turned
By every wind that blew.

The clover, with its heavy bloom

Was tossing in the gale,
And the tall crowfoot's golden stars
Still sprinkled all the vale;
Young orchards on the sunny slope,
Tall woodlands on the height,
All in their freshest beauty rose

To my delighted sight.

The wild vine in the woody glen,

Swung o'er the sounding brook; The clear-voiced wood-thrush sang all unseen Within his leafy nook:

And as the evening sunlight fell,

Where beechen forests lie;

I watched the clouds on crimson wings,
Float softly through the sky.

All these are what they were when first
These pleasant hills I ranged;
But the faces that I knew before,
By time and toil are changed:
Where youth and bloom were on the cheek
And gladness on the brow,

I only meet the marks of care,
And pain, and sorrow now.

THE INDIAN SUMMER.

THAT Soft autumnal time

Is come, that sheds, upon the naked scene,

Charms only known in this our northern clime-Bright seasons, far between.

The woodland foliage now

Is gather'd by the wild November blast;
L'en the thick leaves upon the poplar's bough
Are fallen, to the last.

The mighty vines, that round

The forest trunks their slender branches bind, Their crimson foliage shaken to the ground, Swing naked in the wind.

Some living green remains

By the clear brook that shines along the lawn; But the sear grass stands white o'er all the plains, And the bright flowers are gone.

But these, these are thy charms--Mild airs and temper'd light upon the lea; And the year holds no time within its arms That doth resemble thee.

The sunny noon is thine,

Soft, golden, noiseless as the dead of night;
And hues that in the flush'd horizon shine
At eve and early light.

The year's last, loveliest smile,

Thou comest to fill with hope the human heart, And strengthen it to bear the storms a while, Till winter days depart.

O'er the wide plains, that lie

A desolate scene, the fires of autumn spread,
And nightly on the dark walls of the sky
A ruddy brightness shed.

Far in a shelter'd nook

I've met, in these calm days, a smiling flower, A lonely aster, trembling by a brook,

At the quiet noontides' hour:

And something told my mind, That, should old age to childhood call me back, Some sunny days and flowers I still might find Along life's weary track.

THE BLIND RESTORED TO SIGHT.

"And I went and washed, and I received sight."JOHN ix. 11.

WHEN the great Master spoke,
He touch'd his wither'd eyes,
And at one gleam upon him broke
The glad earth and the skies.

And he saw the city's walls,

And kings' and prophets' tomb, And mighty arches, and vaulted halls, And the temple's lofty dome.

He look'd on the river's flood,

And the flash of mountain rills, And the gentle wave of the palms that stood Upon Judea's hills.

He saw on heights and plains

Creatures of every race:

But a mighty thrill ran through his veins
When he met the human face;

And his virgin sight beheld

The ruddy glow of even,

And the thousand shining orbs that fill'd
The azure depths of heaven.

And woman's voice before

Had cheer'd his gloomy night, But to see the angel form she wore

Made deeper the delight.

And his heart, at daylight's close,

For the bright world where he trod, And when the yellow morning rose, Gave speechless thanks to Gon.

SONNET.

THERE is a magic in the moon's mild ray,What time she softly climbs the evening sky, And sitteth with the silent stars on high,That charms the pang of earth-born grief away I raise my eye to the blue depths above,

And worship Him whose power, pervading space, Holds those bright orbs at peace in his embrace, Yet comprehends earth's lowliest things in love. Oft, when that silent moon was sailing high,

I've left my youthful sports to gaze, and now, When time with graver lines has mark'd my Sweetly she shines upon my sober'd eye. [brow O, may the light of truth, my steps to guide, Shine on my eve of life-shine soft, and long abide

SONNET.

"TIS Autumn. and my steps have led me far
To a wild hill, that overlooks a land
Wide-spread and beautiful. A single star
Sparkles new-set in heaven. O'er its bright sand
The streamlet slides with mellow tones away;
The west is crimson with retiring day;
And the north gleams with its own native light.
Below, in autumn green, the meadows lie,
And through green banks the river wanders by,
And the wide woods with autumn hues are bright
Bright-but of fading brightness!-soon is past

That dream-like glory of the painted wood;
And pitiless decay o'ertakes, as fast,

The pride of men, the beauteous, great, and good