Autumn Leaves | Page 4

find her failings, faults, and errors??Ah, you will then have other cares,?In your own short-comings and despairs,?In your own secret sins and terrors!
H.W.L.
THE LITTLE SOUTH-WIND.
The little south-wind had been shut up for many days, while his cousin from the northeast had been abroad, and the clouds had been heavy and dark; but now all was bright and clear, and the little south-wind was to have a holiday. O, how happy he would be! He sallied forth to amuse himself;--and hear what he did. He came whistling down the chimney, until the nervous old lady was ready to fly with vexation: then away he flew, laughing in triumph,--the naughty south-wind! He played with the maiden's work: away the pieces flew, some here, some there, and away ran the maiden after. What cared she for the wind? She tossed back her curls and laughed merrily, and the wind laughed merrily too,--the silly south-wind! Onward he stole, and lifting the curtain,--curious south-wind!--what did he see? On the sofa lay a young man: a heavy book was in his hand. The little south-wind rustled through the leaves, but the young man stirred not; he was asleep; hot and weary, he slept. The wind fanned his brow awhile, lifted his dark locks, and, leaving a kiss behind, stole out at the casement,--the gentle south-wind! Then he met a little child: away he whirled the little boy's hat, away ran the child, but his little feet were tired, and he wept,--poor child! The wind looked back, and felt sad, then hung the hat on a bush, and went on. He had played too hard,--the thoughtless south-wind! A sick child lay tossing to and fro: its hands and face were hot and dry. The mother raised the window. The wind heard her as he was creeping by, and stepping in, he cooled the burning face: then, playing among the flowers until their fragrance filled the room, away he flew,--the kind south-wind! He went out into the highway, and played with the dust; but that was not so pleasant, and onward he sped to the meadow. The dust could not follow on the green grass, and the little south-wind soon outstripped it, and onward and onward he sped, over mountain and valley, dancing among the flowers, and frolicking round, until the trees lifted up their arms and bent their heads and shook their sides with glee,--the happy south-wind! At last he came to a quiet dell, where a little brook lay, just stirring among his white pebbles. The wind said, "Kind brook, will you play with me?" And the brook answered with a sparkling smile, and a gentle murmur. Then the wind rose up, and, sporting among the dark pines, whistled and sung through the lofty branches, while the pretty brook danced along, and warbled songs to the music of its merry companion,--the merry south-wind! But the sun had gone down and the stars were peeping forth, and the day was done. The happy south-wind was still, and the moon looked down on the world below, and watched among the trees and hills, but all was still: the little south-wind slumbered, and the moon and the stars kept guard,--poor, tired south-wind! Old lady and maiden, young man and child, the dust and the flowers, were forgotten, and he slept,--dear little south-wind!
LINES
WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF DR. HOLMES'S LECTURES ON ENGLISH POETRY.
[Footnote: The Poets are metaphorically introduced as follows. ROGERS, The Beech_; CAMPBELL, _The Fir_; BYRON, _The Oak; MOORE, The Elm_; SCOTT, _The Chestnut_; SOUTHEY, _The Holly; COLERIDGE, The Magnolia_; KEATS, _The Orange_; WORDSWORTH, _The Pine; TENNYSON, The Palm_; FELICIA HEMANS, _The Locust; ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, The Laurel.]
Farewell! farewell! The hours we've stolen?From scenes of worldly strife and stir,?To live with poets, and with thee,?Their brother and interpreter,
Have brought us wealth;--as thou hast reaped,?We have not followed thee in vain,?But gathered, in one precious sheaf,?The pearly flower and golden grain.
For twelve bright hours, with thee we walked?Within a magic garden's bound,?Where trees, whose birth owned various climes,?Beneath one sky were strangely found.
First in the group, an ancient BEECH?His shapely arms abroad did fling,?Wearing old Autumn's russet crown?Among the lively tints of Spring.
Those pale brown leaves the winds of March?Made vocal 'mid the silent trees,?And spread their faint perfume abroad,?Like sad, yet pleasant memories.
Near it, the vigorous, noble FIR?Arose, with firm yet graceful mien;?Welcome for shelter or for shade,?A pyramid of living green.
And from the tender, vernal spray?The sunny air such fragrance drew,?As breathes from fields of strawberries wild,?All bathed in morning's freshest dew.
The OAK his branches richly green?Broad to the winds did wildly fling;--?The first in beauty and in power,?All bowed before the forest-king.
But ere its brilliant leaves were sere,?Or scattered by the Autumn wind,?Fierce lightnings struck its glories down,?And left a blasted trunk behind.
A youthful ELM its drooping