Part 80 (2/2)

Is out of tune With love and G.o.d; The rose his rival reigns, [5]

The stars reject his pains, His home the clod!

And yet I trow, When sweet _rondeau_ Doth play a part, [10]

The curtain drops on June; Veiled is the modest moon- Hushed is the heart.

Autumn

Written in childhood, in a maple grove [15]

Quickly earth's jewels disappear; The turf, whereon I tread, Ere autumn blanch another year, May rest above my head.

Touched by the finger of decay [20]

Is every earthly love; For joy, to shun my weary way, Is registered above.

The languid brooklets yield their sighs, A requiem o'er the tomb [25]

Of sunny days and cloudless skies, Enhancing autumn's gloom.

[Page 396.]

The wild winds mutter, howl, and moan, [1]

To scare my woodland walk, And frightened fancy flees, to roam Where ghosts and goblins stalk.

The cricket's sharp, discordant scream [5]

Fills mortal sense with dread; More sorrowful it scarce could seem; It voices beauty fled.

Yet here, upon this faded sod,- O happy hours and fleet,- [10]

When songsters' matin hymns to G.o.d Are poured in strains so sweet,

My heart unbidden joins rehea.r.s.e; I hope it's better made, When mingling with the universe, [15]

Beneath the maple's shade.

Christ My Refuge

O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind There sweeps a strain, Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind [20]

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