The New Hampshire Gazette

MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.
MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.

From the N.H. Gazette.

From the pen of the Rural Logician,

ON AUTUMN.

Now Autumn comes with softly rain,
And whitens all the flow'ry plain;
No more the sweets the roses shed
With pleasure fill the pasture's head;
No more Arabian gales arise,
Nor violets air attract our eyes;
Nor trains of lambkins young and gay
That sported on the gray brae—
But Autumn, with his frowning brow
Suppresses every transport now;
He chills the ardor of our souls,
And every pleasing thought controuls.
Ah! where are all the charms of Spring
That fit inspir'd my tongue to sing?
No more I view the vale so green,
Where blushing flowers illum'd the scene;
No more the lily and the rose
Their charming scents around disclose.
The corn has rais'd its verdant head,
And on the ground its image spread,
Which, like the ocean's gentle wave,
Delight to all that saw it gave,
Is blasted by the chilling night,
And fled forever from our sight.
No longer shall the morning crow
Tempted by hunger thither go;
No more shall larks or linnets lay
Shut from the sultry heat of day—
Or sweetly tune their morning song
The spreading leaves sheltered among.
No more the hen at break' of day
Shall there direct her wandering way;
No more shall lead her feeble train,
And raise her head to pick the grain.
No longer shall the truant boy
Sport in the corn, elate with joy;
No more his knife shall cut the shoot
That issues from the pumpkin's root;
And, laying work and business by,
Its juice squeezed with rapture try—
Or, when the sultry day has fled,
And evening casts a sable shade,
The wonted wrestling ground no more
His active limbs will wander o'er.
Where are the beauteous scenes of May,
That shone so lovely and so gay?
The orchards drest in robes of white;
The lily with its glowing light?
The fragrant woodbine and the rose
That nature's gayest charms disclose?
The gardens deck'd with countless blooms,
Have found, alas! their silent tombs!
Upon the side of yonder stream,
On which the sun reflects his beam;
The towering elms and poplars rise,
And seem to aim at yonder skies;
Their spreading branches once were seen
Deck'd in the most luxuriant green:
The feather'd choir would often fly
And meet upon those branches high;
Among the leaves their houses form,
Regardless of the battering storm;
But, ah! they now have bid adieu,
And swift to distant regions flew—
While rigid Autumn's stern decree
Has blasted ev'ry leafy tree.
The sporting bees of varied hue,
The roses' tinge, the violets' blue,
That gambol'd in the cooling shade,
Or courted ev'ry flow'ry glade,
No more at Summer's rosy morn
Shall light upon the waving corn.
No more my steps the grove shall tread,
Or lofty pines my body shade;
The little neighboring trees so fair,
Where oft I quaff'd the evening air,
Beneath whose boughs the Muses flew,
And from my pen its numbers drew—
Deserted by the singing throng,
Those boughs no more shall hear the song.
Behold the limbs of ev'ry tree—
How fast their verdant beauties flee!
They're blasted by the northern gale,
That nipt the woodbine in the vale.
Then think, O man! on yonder bower,
On ev'ry tree, on ev'ry flower—
And know how soon their beauties fly,
Like blushes of the morning sky.
Then know this truth, that virtue's name
Protection from the frost can claim,
And while each blasted bloom dies,
And sinks forever from our eyes,
The noble deed, the virtuous thought
Shall live eternal, unforgot.
When age, like Autumn, blasts thy bloom,
And evening skies are hung with gloom;
When youthful passions all retire,
And age has cool'd thy morning fire;
When blooming beauty falls a prey,
And owns of time the sov'reign sway,
Still shall thy virtues live secure,
And time's eternal shock endure.
O! let the leaves that fast decay
Teach you to mount yon heavenly way;
To cull the flowers that never die,
Tho' Autumn frowns and blooms fly;
To mount the heaven appointed road
That leads to virtue and to God!
Disdain the smooth, the dangerous path,
That leads to pain, remorse and death;
Avoid the way the vicious go,
Which leads to darkness and to woe!
O youth, thou youth of blooming air,
Ignoble pleasure's dangerous snare;
Let not a wicked world debase,
And sink thy glory to disgrace.—
In early youth improve thy time,
And on the steeps of virtue climb.—
The flow'ry lawns that pleasure spreads
Shall soon be deck'd with gloomy shades;
The glittering way where rubies glow
Conducts to darkness and to woe;
But virtue's path, tho' rocks appear,
Shall shine, like noon-day brightness, clear,
And lead thee thro' the dreary way
Up to the glorious realms of day!