But see! the leaves are falling fast,
As homewards hastening we retire;
And hark! the wild November blast
Warns us to trim our evening fire:
Lov'd sister!-here we miss thee more
Than all the live-long day before.
The book-the pen-the warbled strain—
All sweet, were sweeter shar'd with thee.
And wilt thou not return again,
Again our dear companion be,
And make the dreary winter hours
Dance on, as if they trod on flow'rs?
Ah come! our dearest wish fulfil!
This rural home thou lov'st so well, Though happy, shall be happier still,
When thou with us again shalt dwell: Ah come! and make our hearts rejoice To hear again thy gentle voice.
Come! and thy promis'd vow remember,
Ere wintry glooms o'erhang the sky,
And we are chill'd by "bleak December,"
And wish in vain that thou wert nigh:
Come then, not soon again to roam
From this thy lov'd, thy rural home.
SONNET ON THE END OF A COLD RAINY SUMMER.
DEPARTING Summer, how I grieve to see
Thy farewell steps, how short thy stay hath been
In our cold land! And why, O wayward queen,
Why cam'st thou not in state? No jocund hours,
No smiling graces, crown'd with blooming flowers
As they were wont, have form'd thy pageantry.
Hast thou indeed been here? or rather say,
Has not pale Winter, in thy borrow'd gear,
Been ling'ring still, and mock'd th' expecting year?
Yes, the chill morn, the drear and joyless day
Betray'd his gloomy presence, all the time
That thou wast sporting in some happier clime.
Ah! Summer, come e'en now to cheer the land;
Return, and link'd with Autumn hand in hand,
Mingle thy charms with hers; while at thy voice
Nature again shall smile, and all her scenes rejoicej.
1841.
By a curious coincidence, just after writing these, we had a week of the most warm and lovely weather; summer indeed appeared to return; the swallows, which had been dispersing, collected again on the roofs and chimneys, chirping all day in the bright sunshine with that cheerful hilarity so characteristic of fine weather; the fields and flowers revived; they were a few days most delightful for the harvest; but alas! they were only a few days; the clouds and cold rain soon returned, and the earth resumed her gloomy and winter-like appearance.
LADY, when first I saw thee, saw thy face
Radiant with beauty, I admir'd thee less
Than when I saw, sustain'd by inward grace
How meekly thou didst wear thy loveliness;
E'en meekly as the Summer's loveliest flower
Wears its sweet charms, unconscious of their
Yes, as that rose which thou didst shew to me, Veil'd in the lowly moss appear'd more bright, So, veil'd in lowly sweet humility,
Thy ever-varying charms the more delight, In kindly hearts a kindlier warmth inflame, And rob e'en envy of the power to blame.
What is a beaming eye-a graceful air-
A smile-unless the smile is from within?
No outward charms, unless the mind were fair,
Could e'er my love or admiration win:
No-'twas not these, though pleasing to the sight,
It was not these that gave me such delight.
Nor when I heard thy harp's melodious strain
Falling in dying cadence on the ear,
And felt that never, till we meet again,
Should I such sweet, such soul-felt music hear;
Yet even then, although in rapture lost,
It was not then that I admir'd thee most.
'Twas when I saw that, free from selfish feeling, Thy wishes still to others were subdued; 'Twas when, thy kind and tender heart revealing, The tear of sympathy thy cheek bedew'd;These were the spells that bound thee to my heart With that sweet magic which will ne'er depart.
'Twas when I saw that, though to all so pleasing,
In social duties most 'twas thine to please,
A husband's cares with fond affection easing,
Sharing a daughter's joys with graceful ease,
And minist'ring to those in want and pain
Whose humble lot could yield thee nought again.
Lady, go on in these thy works of love,
For these shall last when youth and bloom are o'er; Yes, these shall form thy crown of joy above,
Where want and pain shall need thy care no more. Lady, go on-until thy Saviour's voice
Shall own thee, and shall bid thy soul rejoice.
Was it a dream, lov'd Mother, that I stray'd
With thee again beneath that well-known shade,
Where happy childhood pass'd-again did press
Thy hand in mine, and felt thy dear caress?
Ah no! what dream could give me back so true
The earth's rich verdure, or the heaven's soft blue?
What dream so clearly to my ear could bring
The liquid murmur of the distant spring;
Or shew so bright the golden sunbeam's dance,
Where through the groves the sparkling waters
glance;
Or wake the gentle whisper of the tree,
Or the low music of the vagrant bee?
No-'twas no dream the pleasure of that day!
And still with thee along the path I stray,
And still enjoy, with pensive mem'ry's aid,
The murm'ring waters and the whisp'ring shade.
Thine image too, my Father, lingers there;
For thou didst all our summer rambles share,
The charms of fancy it was thine to give,
And bid the beautiful ideal live;
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