Autumn! I love thy tinted looks, Thy faded leaves, and chilling brooks,
And variegated flowers;
Thy cooling winds and wither'd grass, Precurser of the stormy glast,
And fluctuating showers.
Thy cloudy days and chilling nights, And ripen'd fruits,…
Drop follows drop, and swells
With rain the sweeping river;
Word follows word, and tells
A truth that lives forever.
Flake follows flake, like sprites
Whose wings the winds dissever;
Thought follows thought, and lights
The realm of mind…
Suppose the little cowslip
Should hang its golden cup
And say, "I'm such a tiny flower,
I'd better now grow up"—
How many a weary traveler
Would miss its fragrant smell,
How many a little child would grieve
To lose it from the dell!
Suppose…
I know that it must be,
Yea! thou art changed—all worshipped as thou art— Mourned as thou shalt be! Sickness of the heart
Hath done its work on thee!
Thy dim eyes tell a tale,
A piteous tale, of vigils; and the traceOf bitter tears is on thy…
I've lost my little May at last;
She perished in the spring,
When earliest flowers began to bud,
And earliest birds to sing;
I laid her in a country grav,
A green and soft retreat,
A marble tablet o'er her head,
And violets at her feet.
I…
The heart is swept—the fire is bright,
The kettle sings for tea;
The cloth is spread, the lamp is light, The muffins smoke in napkins white,
And now I wait for thee.
Come home, love, come; thy task is done;
The clock ticks listeningly;
The…
Oh! I am weary, mother,
And my eyes are dim with tears,
And the twilight shadows come and go,
Like mingled hopes and fears.
The world, 'tis vain, and dark, and cold,
Its frowns, they've wearied me;
Then let me sit and dream awhile,
Sweet…
See, Freedom's eagle droops her plume,
And bends her noble crest,
In grief for him who martyred fell,
In Liberty's contest.
Not Broderick only, but the cause
Was riven by the blow,
And treachery, with blackened art,
Has slain her bravest…
TUNE—"For a' that, and a' that." Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that;
The coward slave, we pass him by;
We daur be puir for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea…
"He has no enemies," you say,
I pity his condition;
His candor he has thrown away,
His manhood and position.
"He has no enemies!" well, then,
The reason is he never
Has heart to act, but only when
He sees which way the weather.
"He has no…
