Classic Poem

BY WILLIAM D. GALLACHER .

The Autumn Time is with us! — Its approach
Was heralded, not many days ago,
By hazy skies, that veil'd the brazen sun,
And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn,
And low-voiced brooks, that wandered drowsily
By purpling clusters of the juicy grape,
Swinging upon the vine. And now, 'tis here!
And what a change hath pass'd upon the face
Of Nature, where the waving forest spreads,
Then robed in deepest green! All through the night
The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art;
And in the day the golden sun hath wrought
True wonders; and the winds of morn and even
Have touch'd with magic breath the changing leaves.
And now, as wanders the dilating eye
Athwart the varied landscape, circling far,
What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp
Of colors, bursts upon the ravish'd sight!
Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest,
A golden glory: yonder, where the oak
Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash
Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad
The dogwood spreads beneath, a rolling field
Of deepest crimson; and afar, where looms
The gnarled gum, a cloud of bloodiest red!

Out in the woods of Autumn! — I have cast
Aside the shackles of the town, that vex
The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself,
Miami! in thy venerable shades.
Low on thy bank, where spreads the velvet moss,
My limbs recline. Beneath me, silver-bright,
Glide the clear waters, with a plaintive moan
For summer's parting glories. High o'erhead,
Seeking the sedgy lakes of the warm South,
Sails tireless the unerring waterfowl,
Screaming among the cloud-racks. Oft from where,
Erect on mossy trunk, the partridge stands,
Bursts suddenly the whistle clear and loud,
Far-echoing through the dim wood's fretted aisles.
Deep murmurs from the trees, bending with brown
And ripened mast, are interrupted now
By sounds of dropping nuts; and warily
The turkey from the thicket comes, and swift
As flies an arrow darts the pheasant down,
To batten on the autumn; and the air,
At times, is darkened by a sudden rush
Of myriad wings, as the wild pigeon leads
His squadrons to the banquet. Far away,
Where the pawpaw its mellow fruitage yields,
And thick, dark clusters of the wild grape hang,
The merry laugh of childhood, and the shout
Of truant schoolboy, ring upon the air.

Deep in the solemn forest! — From the tops
Of these old trees, swept by the evening wind,
Which swells among their leaves, and dies away,
And gathers strength again, float softly down
Strange, wild, deep harmonies. And I have been
All day among the Voices of the Wood,
That are but echoes of perpetual tones
With which God fills the universe. The noon,
Gairish and still, and midnight's calm repose,
And dewy eve, and blue rejoicing morn,
Are full of them. I hear them in the breeze
That stirs the reed to music. In the faint,
Sad murmur of the stream that glides below,
Bearing away the fallen leaves, as pass
The dreams of childhood and the hopes of life,
I hear them. And I hear them in the spring
That, bubbling from beneath you dark old root,
Falls tinkling o'er the mossy rock below.
And in the billowy chimes that wake aloft
When gale-like breezes sweep the ancient trees,
They speak with organ-tones, that reach the depths
Stirring within me, and an echo find
In the roused soul. . . . . . O God! Thou art in all
I now behold! the essence and the life,
The germ and the vitality! the birth,
The being, and the end! Else Reason gropes
In darkness all her days, and Knowledge dies.
What but the high intelligence, the hand
Almighty, and the sempiternal life —
What but the omnipresence, and the will,
All which we feel Thou art, and all which fills
Our great Idea of a primal cause
And final end, could speak this glorious world
From wildest Chaos and profoundest Night?
What poise the planets in the void, and set
The infinite stars in order, and confine
Each in its separate path on high? What fill
Earth with its countless forms of Life, and raise
Eternally, as ages glide along,
New being from the ashes of decay?

Alone, with God and Nature! — Round me now
Is pressing onward the eternal change.
And here, where all is seen, but nought reveal'd,
I contemplate the mysteries sublime
Of birth, and life, and death. . . . . From the dark womb
Of winter, comes the spring, with mild, warm breath;
And instantly the chains that bound the streams
Are loosen'd, and the waters leap to light,
And shout with gladness. Soon the spell that long
Has held the earth, is broken; and the grass
Pierces the sod, and from the sheltering leaves
That strew the ground, look out the fresh, young flowers,
Smiling to heaven. Then the gray, leafless trees,
Long desolate in their utter nakedness,
Feel the new presence; and, although no sign
Of life is visible, a delicate green
Creeps out along the tender twigs, where swell
The germ-infolding buds; and in the warm
And sunny day, and through the breezy night,
Come forth the myriad leaves, courting the light
And wantoning with the zephyr, till a robe
Of brightest green bursts on the wondering eye.
O'er the cold bosom of the sluggish clod
Soon steals the influence; and from the broad
And seeded field shoots up the waving grain,
Till spreads a sea of verdure far around,
Toss'd by the winds, and with the clouds at play.
Then comes the long and sunny summer time,
And for the garners of the husbandman
Ripens, and to the sickle lays, the grain;
And for the cherish'd tribes of air, that make
The cool groves vocal, strews the briery globe
With berries; and for the innumerous flocks
That shun the haunts of men, and hang their nests
High in the endless wood, or in the low
Dark thicket build, matures the beechen mast;
And takes the worm upon the leaf, and wraps
A silken tissue round it; and prepares
For all the insect race befitting tombs,
Where each shall sleep the winter hours away.
Then comes the lone and quiet autumn on,
With tinckling water-falls, and moaning woods,
And arid wastes, o'er which the night-winds sigh.
And this is here; and still the eternal round
Of change goes on — beginning, being, ending;
And still the mystery proclaims a Hand
Omnipotent — an Eye that never sleeps.

End of the vernal year! — The flower hath closed
And cast its petals, and the naked stalk
Stands shrivelling in the frost; the feathered grass
Is heavy in the head; the painted leaf
Flies twittering on the wind; and to the earth
Falls the brown nut, with melancholy sound.
Yet the low, moaning autumn wind, that sweeps
The seeded grass and lately-blossoming flower,
Bears the light germs of future life away,
And sows them by the gliding rivulet,
And o'er the plain, and on the mountain side,
To clothe anew the earth, when comes again
The quickening breath of spring. And on the place
Where fall the ripened nuts, the frosty night
Will heap the stricken leaves; and thence shall spring,
In many an after age, another growth
Of stately trees, when those around me now,
Fallen with old, shall moulder, and enrich
The ground that now sustains their lofty pride.

Changing, forever changing! — So depart
The glories of the old majestic wood;
So pass the pride and garniture of fields;
The growth of ages, and the bloom of days,
Into the dust of centuries; and so
Are both renewed. The scattered tribes of men,
The generations of the populous earth,
All have their seasons too. And jocund Youth
Is the green spring-time — Manhood's lusty strength
Is the maturing summer — hoary Age
Types well the autumn of the year — and Death
Is the real winter, which forecloses all.
And shall the forests have another spring,
And shall the fields another garland wear,
And shall the worm come forth renew'd in life
And clothed with highest beauty, and not man?
No! — in the Book before me now, I read
Another language; and my faith is sure,
That though the chains of death may hold it long,
This mortal will o'ermaster them, and break
Away, and put on immortality.

Almighty Father! such the lesson is,
That, in these cool and venerable woods,
I con to-day; and firmer in my breast,
By every syllable, these truths are fixed:
That Thou art the beginning, and the end,
Of all this wondrous work; and that Thy love
Pervades the universe; and that Thy smile
Seeketh all hearts to sun them; and that Thou,
In every glorious thing we here behold,
Declarest and reveal'st Thyself to be
The Majesty Supreme — Eternal God.