THE

SEPTEMBER FOREST.

I.

WITHIN a Wood I lay reclined,
Upon a dull September day,

And listen'd to the hollow wind,

That shook the frail leaves from the spray.

I thought me of its summer pride,

And how the sod was gemm'd with flowers, And how the river's azure tide

Was overarch'd with leafy bowers.

And how the small birds caroll'd

gay,

And lattice-work the sunshine made,

When last, upon a summer day,

I stray'd beneath that woodland shade.

II.

And now!-it was a startling thought,

And flash'd like lightning o'er the mind,That like the leaves we pass to nought, Nor, parting, leave a track behind! Go-trace the church-yard's hallow'd mound, And, as among the tombs ye tread, Read, on the pedestals around,

Memorials of the vanish'd dead.

They lived like us—they breathed like us— Like us, they loved, and smiled, and wept ; But soon their hour arriving, thus

From earth like autumn leaves were swept.

III.

Who, living, care for them?—not one!
To earth are theirs dissever'd claims ;
To new inheritors have gone

Their habitations, and their names!
Think on our childhood-where are they,
The beings that begirt us then?
The Lion Death hath dragg'd away

By turns, the victim to his den!

And springing round, like vernal flowers, Another race with vigour burns,

To bloom a while,-for years or hours,And then to perish in their turns!

IV.

Then be this wintry grove to me
An emblem of our mortal state;
And from each lone and leafless tree,
So wither'd, wild, and desolate,

This moral lesson let me draw,

That earthly means are vain to fly Great Nature's universal law,

And that we all must come to die! However varied, these alone

Abide the lofty and the less,Remembrance, and a sculptured stone, A green grave, and forgetfulness.

THE

SILENT EVE.

THE shades of night are hastening down, To steep in blue the mountains brown, The sky is cloudless, and serene; The winds are pillowed; and the scene So beautiful, so wild, so sweet, Where forests, fields, and waters meet, Is bathed in such delicious hues, Beneath the twilight's falling dews, That man, afar from Sorrow's sphere, Might muse away his anguish here; While, o'er his erring thoughts subdued, That quiet-tranquillizing mood, That tone of harmony would steal,

Which poets feign, and angels feel.

Earth answers to the hues above

The music ceases in the grove ;

While not a breeze, in wandering, stirs
The branches of the silent firs,

That stretch their azure cones on high,

And shoot into the lucid sky.

There is no living motion round, Save, that, with meek and mellow sound, The shaded river murmurs on,

'Tween banks with copsewood overgrown ; Athwart its bed, the willow throws

The brightness of its pendent boughs,
And hangs, with melancholy air,
And languid head, its tresses there;
Like Guilt, that feels remorse endure,
Performing penance to be pure.—

;

Lo! in the south, a silver star,
With amber radiance, shines afar
The eldest daughter of the night,
In glory warm, in beauty bright.
Thou diamond in the pathless dome
Of azure, whither dost thou come?--

N