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AUTUMN.

55

white and thin ;

The reaper's sheaf hath now grown
The bearded wheat, and golden ear of corn,
The jocund husbandmen have gathered in ;

And from the fields the seedy hay is borne.

The orchards all have showered their treasures down,
In many a pile of crimson and of gold ;
There will be wealth of sparkling juice to crown,
The foamy glass when the Year's death is knolled.

Still are these barren-hills! save when the tree Falls 'neath the far-off woodman's measured stroke; Or when the squirrel chatters noisily,

Or carrion crow screams from the leafless oak.

Methinks there's something sad in thy decay,
Oh! merry-hearted Autumn! like a man
Whose head is in his prime of years turned gray,
The red cheek in a little hour made wan!

Poet! doth no regret o'ercast thy dream,
To see the good old Autumn thus depart ?
And gloom fast darkening Summer's golden gleam,
E'en as afflictions change the cheerful heart.

Even as I follow to his lowly bed,

The ashes of some kind, and well-beloved friend, So with a saddened eye and mournful tread,

I see thee, Autumn! to oblivion tend.

Yet beautiful are thy last fleeting days,
When glows the hectic on thy dying cheek ;
When leaves are red, clouds bright, and hangs the
haze

In many a colored fold, of gaudy streak.

I hear the voice of Autumn! the deep dirge
Hymned plaintively within his ruined hall,
Its solemn sound comes like the beating surge,
Or thunder of the distant water-fall!

PAUL AT ATHENS.

BY THE EDITOR.

THE day stole over Athens.-From his rest Went forth a stranger through the silent streets, To catch the breathings of the lifting morn As it came up in glory and enwrapped In mantlings of rich light, the old renownedThe city of Minerva !-The unclouded sky Hung, like the canopy of the third heavens, O'er the glad hills of Attica,-the wind Stirred lightly sea-ward, as he mounted on To reach the old Acropolis, -and the breath From far Hymettus and the thyme-grown hills, Came to his sense deliciously.-He stood At length, amid the Parthenon, that reared Its yet unbroken columns awfully Around-and gazed in wonder !

Far abroad,

The old gaan with its cradled isles
Stretched dimmingly away-or stirred

To a slight ruffle, by the morning breeze,
Sent back the day king's radiance, in a shower
Of dazzling light! 'Twas passing glorious!
The queen of cities in her pristine pride,
Lay in the splendor of her marble fanes

And glittering domes beneath him, and the Bay
Fresh in perennial greenness, gave its breath
Of odors to the winds,-and olive groves
In their just time of flowering, clustered there
On storied hills and by the classic shores
Of swift Ilissus !-Who, that hath a soul
Shaped for communion with the high
And glorious of Nature's living forms,
And with the chaste and beautiful of Art,-

And who had read of old Philosophy,

And caught the fire from Homer's burning page

Might not have felt emotion's deepest thrill

Stir in his bosom then!

And such his soul

Who stood within the Athenian citadel.

Yet came that pageant to his heedless eye
In very mockery! His heart grew sick
Amidst the glitter of Pentelic piles-

PAUL AT ATHENS.

59

The pomp and splendor of a God-less world!
He turned him from that height away, and bent
His step, with a stern brow and burdened heart,
To the great city's din.

And as he urged

His faltering way amid the tumult crowds,
That thronged the altars of her hand-wrought gods,
A gilded mockery-his spirit stirred

Within him, that the city thus were wrapped
In mad idolatry !-How much the heart
Whose homage riseth to the living God,
Burns inly, as the wayward sons of men
Turn to their soul-less idols!

'Twas high noon.

The Apostle had gone forth with holy zeal,
Girt with the panoply of prayer and faith-
And stood within the Forum. Science there
Had gathered her stern votaries.-The learned-
The rich nobility of Athens lounged

In the cool porticoes and olive groves,
That clustered round the Agora and gave
A shelter from the sultry noon-tide sun!
The stranger walked amid the multitudes,
And listed the deep hum of mingled tones
That came from thousand voices, till his soul
Yearned for an utterance! And mingling there
With old Athena's proud Philosophers,-

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