Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/74



summer's flush was on thee, clime beloved, When last I trod thy vales. Now, all around, Autumn her rainbow energy of tint Poureth o'er copse and forest, beautiful, Yet speaking of decay. The aspiring pine Wears his undying green; but the strong oak, Like smitten giant, casts his honours down, Strewing brown earth with emerald and gold. Yon lofty elms, the glory of our land, So lately drooping 'neath their weight of leaves, With proud, yet graceful elegance, to earth, Stand half in nakedness, and half in show Of gaudy colours. Hath some secret shaft Wounded the maple's breast, that thus it bends Like bleeding warrior, tinging all its robes With crimson? while in pity by its side, The pallid poplar, turning to the eye Its silver lining, moans at every breeze.

I roved in sadness through those alter'd scenes. The voice of man was painful. On the ear Idly and vague it fell, for tearful thought Wrought inward, mid the faded imagery Of early days. See there, yon low-brow'd cot, Whose threshold oft my childish foot has cross'd