FALL! thickly fall! thou Winter snow;
And keenly blow, thou Winter wind!
Only the barren North is yours;
The South delights a Summer mind;
So fall and blow,
Both wind and snow,
My fancy to the South does go!
Half-way between the frozen zones,
Where Winter reigns in sullen mirth,
The Summer binds a golden belt
About the middle of the Earth.
The sky is soft, and blue, and bright,
With purple dyes at morn and night;
And bright and blue the seas that lie
In perfect rest, and glass the sky;
And sunny bays with inland curves
Round all along the quiet shore;
And stately palms in pillared ranks
Grow down the borders of the banks,
And juts of land where billows roar;
The spicy woods are full of birds,
And golden fruits and crimson flowers;
With wreathed vines on every bough,
That shed their grapes in purple showers;
The emerald meadows roll their waves,
And bask in soft and mellow light;
The vales are full of silver mist,
And all the folded hills are bright;
But far along the welkin's rim
The purple crags and peaks are dim;
And dim the gulfs and gorges blue,
With all the wooded passes deep;
All bathed in haze and washed in dew,
And bathed in atmospheres of sleep.
Sometimes the dusky islanders
Lie all day long beneath the trees,
And watch the white clouds in the sky,
And birds upon the azure seas;
Sometimes they wrestle on the turf,
And chase each other down the sands;
And sometimes climb the blooming groves
And pluck the fruits with idle hands;
And dark-eyed maidens braid their hair
With starry shells, and buds, and leaves,
And sing wild songs in dreamy bowers,
And dance on dewy eves,—
When daylight melts and stars are few,
And west winds frame a drowsy tune,
Till all the charmed waters sleep
Beneath a yellow moon!
Here men may dwell, and mock at toil,
And all the dull mechanic arts;
No need to till the teeming soil,
With weary hands, and aching hearts;
No want can follow folded palms,
For Nature doth supply her alms
With sweets purveyors cannot bring
To grace the table of a King;
While Summer broods o'er land and sea,
And breathes in all the winds,
Until her presence fills their hearts,
And moulds their happy minds!
T Greenwood, where, through branches green,
The ocean's billowy breast is seen,
When dark the shades of evening grew,
And all around the green hill blew
Soft winds of Autumn's tranquil hours,
Faint with the breath of dying flowers,
An infant's little grave was made,
In which, with bitt'rest burning tears,
And broken-hearted sighs, was laid
The blossom of our later years.
Sweet place and still it is, and meet
For the last rest of one so sweet,―
Bower'd round with trees whose ev'ry leaf
Is eloquent of tender grief;
And graced with flowers divinely fair,
Which gentle hands have planted there,
And nurtured with a sad delight,
Not less to hallow than adorn;
Sweet flowers! that bent in prayer all night,
Raise tearful eyes to Heaven at morn!
Oh, loved and lost! there calmly sleep,
And never wake again to weep;
Safe in the cold earth's close embrace
Rest thou alone a little space,
And those thou lovedst most shall come,
And join thee in thy peaceful home.
Thy peaceful home, where ev'ry tear
And ev'ry care is all forgot;
Where envy, hatred, strife, and fear,
And sin, and sorrow enter not.
Though sweet thy undisturbed sleep,
A selfish sorrow bids us weep;
Still bleeds-though blessed now thou art-
Thy mother's and thy father's heart.
But though we think of thee as dead,
And mould'ring in thy earthy bed,
We know, thanks to benignant Heaven!
When death destroyed thy mortal charms,
That cherub wings to thee were given,
To bear thee to thy Saviour's arms.
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