Autumn

Autumn

I love the dews of night,

I love the howling wind,
I love to hear the tempest sweep
O'er the billows of the deep:
For nature's saddest scenes delight
The melancholy mind.

Autumn! I love thy bower
With faded garlands drest:
How sweet alone to linger there
Where tempests ride the midnight air,
To snatch from earth a fleeting hour,
The Sabbath of the breast.

Autumn! I love thee well:
Though bleak thy breezes blow,
I love to see thy vapours rise,
And clouds roll widely round the skies,
Where from the plain the mountains swell
And foamy torrents flow.

Autumn! thy fading flowers
Drop but to bloom again;
So man, though doom'd to grief awhile,
To hang on fortune's fickle smile,
Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers,
Nor sigh for peace in vain.

Mr. Haven

2:27, p. 214

1828.09.26

Mr. Editor: - I believe you wilt much oblige your readers if you will give them an opportunity of reading the following lines, on the present season of the year, from the pen of Mr. Haven.