Classic Poem

I. — N ATURE

Stormy day of mid October!
Nature sees thy blasts disrobe her
Forests of their charms;
Sees, like sparks from forges flying,
Fall the leaves of Summer dying
In gray Autumn's arms.

As a mother to her tender
Babes her raiment doth surrender
In the wintry hours;
Busy in the tempest's watches,
With a quilt of many patches,
Covers she the flowers.

As escape the winged legions
Of the air, from Arctic regions,
Pale with sunless cold;
Gales in search of tropic fires
Rushing, wake the thousand lyres
Of the Druid wold.

Green, midst Autumn's fading splendour,
Swing the lonely willow's tender
Fringes, o'er the brook;
As though, fresh from Ocean's portal,
Some fair Nereid immortal
There her ringlets shook.

Circling zephyrs, with caresses,
Gently sway those drooping tresses
Sheltered by the grove;
Whilst its giant tree-tops, braving
Ruder blasts, are madly waving
In the air above.

II — M AN .

Stormy day of mid October!
I, poor drunkard, waxing sober,
Feel thy pelting rain
Fierce as shot my cheeks assailing,
Driven by the blast whose wailing
Heralds Winter's reign.

As I plod with weary measure,
Conscience tolls the knell of pleasure;
Oh, the Summer hours!
Gone are now their joys enchanting,
Leaving only phantoms, haunting
Memory's leafless bowers.

On the leaves the wayside strewing,
I, in each a moment rueing,
Look with tearful eyes;
Look, as were they corpses serried
On a battle-field, ere buried
Never more to rise.

Blows the north-wind sharp and biting,
Scatters dreams of bliss inviting,
Rain-drops burn like fire,
And the fire my breast tormenting,
Unextinguished, unrelenting,
Withers all desire.

Though like spray from storm-lashed surges,
Whip the forest's leaves thy scourges,
Fearful Hurricane!
Leaflets, erst Spring's welcome bringing,
To the willow fondly clinging,
Bright as hope remain.