Autumn (Chivers)


 * Farewell! thou dying Year, farewell!
 * Thy reign is almost o'er;
 * Fled the freshness of vernal hours,
 * The glory of thy summer bowers,-
 * And e'en thy last pale ling'ring flowers
 * Will soon be here no more!


 * 'Tis sad to see the hues of death
 * Fast stealing o'er thy bloom,
 * To hear the fitful Autumn gale
 * Sweep through the lonely wood and vale,
 * Breathing its low, prophetic wail,
 * O'er thy approaching doom!


 * To me, in every passing breeze,
 * There is a tone of grief,
 * Recalling hopes of vanished years,
 * Now only seem thro' Memory's tears,-
 * In every falling leaf!


 * Perhaps there are bright eyes, that weep
 * To see thee pass away,
 * Who in thy course, departing year,
 * Have ne'er beend imm'd by sorrow's tear;
 * And blest with all of bright and dear,
 * Would gladly woo thy stay.


 * But there are some, whose hearts are glad,
 * Thy darksome reign is o'er,-
 * Who would not live thine hours again,
 * For riches of the earth and main;
 * But joy those days of care and pain,
 * To them, can come no more.


 * For thou hast seen the dearest ties
 * Of earthly feelings broken!
 * To be renewed, oh! never more,
 * Unless on that eternal shore,
 * Where, grief and death forever oe'r,
 * No parting words are spoken!


 * Then fare thee well, departing Year!
 * I would not woo thy stay:
 * Thy sighing winds breathe of the tomb;
 * Thy fading roses speak the doom
 * Of the heart's cherish'd hopes-whose bloom,
 * Like thine, has passed away!