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 By EDSON B. RUSSELL, 
 
 All Rittbts ReservetL 
 
lr)dic[r) C)urr)rr)er. 
 
 ^^j^ ET poets sing 
 
 Of budding spring. 
 ^ And -ode'' the summer lose.- 
 I tune ray lays 
 
 To Autumn days, 
 
 As fair October closes. 
 
 Though fashions scorn 
 The golden corn 
 
 That yonder valleys coxer. 
 Of honest fields 
 Which labor yields. 
 
 I am an ardent lover. 
 
 When sleety rains 
 Have swept the plains, 
 
 And cleared the skies of trouble, 
 I love to trace 
 The rustic grace 
 
 Of browning woods and stubble. 
 
The lazy nod 
 Of goldenrod, 
 
 As pales its yellow lustre, 
 The serpentine 
 Suspended vine, 
 
 ^Vith many a scarlet cluster. 
 
 The broken gleams 
 Of pasture streams 
 
 Through leafless thorn and thistle, 
 The echo bounds 
 Of varied sounds. 
 
 The quail with shrilly whistle. 
 
 The call of crow. 
 And distant low 
 
 Of heather rangi ug cattle, 
 The bugle strains 
 Of feathered trains, 
 
 That move in lines of battle. 
 
 The dizzy whirr, 
 And throbbing stir 
 
 Of strutting partridge-drummer, 
 Such sights and sounds, 
 In constant rounds, 
 
 Are praising Indian Summer. 
 
— » — ■ 
 
 ^rx / AIL. Winter! with thy soh'mn trtiiii 
 ^::^ V4* Of icc-enciimbercd days, 
 
 ^r WThoii hast most surely come again 
 
 Through thine accustomed ways 
 From polar wastes, the chilling wind 
 Hath brought us snow and sleet. 
 And through the woods (November thinned) 
 T hear thy hastening feet. 
 
 Thy hosts are gathering on the hills, 
 
 By ghostly banners led: 
 Each grim ieolian chord that shrills 
 
 Above the summer dead. 
 Proclaims thy rule is over all, 
 
 Like one vast shadowing wing '. 
 I'ntil fair April's tender call 
 
 Shall wake us into spring. 
 
ffloLl^O^. 
 
 HEAR the swelling music ^ 
 
 Of wind-harps rudely strunj 
 Intrusive voices joining 
 In songs so often sung. 
 The winter's dying echoes 
 
 And April's herald strains : 
 The Norther's fitful wailing, 
 With pattering of rains. 
 Now is a chord of sadness, 
 
 Now is a sweep of power. 
 March reigns, and snits her music 
 To changes, every houi-. 
 
ARM days make the heart grow 
 
 Ami June fills the sympathies fill":. 
 The head, from cold white snow 
 
 Draws lightning, and the power to riil( 
 But now is Jun<\ and sweet it is to me. 
 To feel witiiin its wondrous melody. 
 
 Buds swell and burst in bloom. 
 
 Trees stretch their fingers to tlu> sun. 
 
 Softly the aerial loom 
 
 Weaves on, and spiral threads are run: 
 
 Full are the cups, while o'er and o'er the bee 
 
 His drowsy song sends fortli in revelry. 
 
 As from a viewless strand 
 
 A benediction fills tlie air. 
 Uprising through the land. 
 
 List thee to Earth's mighty choir! 
 By hands untouched, a million harps resound. 
 And life springs up where only death was found. 
 
 O -lunel could we abide 
 
 P'orever in thy realm of love: 
 No need were ours to hide. 
 
 The heart's complaint, or stronger prove. 
 To meet King Winter with his frosted crown: 
 For the flowers look up, and the sun looks down. 
 
10 
 
 bife. 
 
 ^ KNOW not really what thou art. 
 % But know O life 1 we cannot part; 
 Death's curtain does not fall between 
 My sight and that on which I lean. 
 
 By law united, we shall be 
 
 United thus eternally I 
 
 Nor beat of heart, nor thought, nor breath. 
 
 Nor thou, dear life, art lost in death, 
 
 The body, which doth waste and die! 
 
 It is not thou, it is not I: 
 
 I am the centre, thou the shield. 
 
 We are divinely linked and sealed. 
 
 Where thou wouldst go, I sure am there, 
 
 And whether " night or morning. "' share 
 
 With thee sorrow and tears, or birth 
 
 Into the glories not of Earth. 
 
11 
 
 w> 
 
 eipopiGT. 
 
 I-IXKS TO A FlMKXn. AfTOMPA XIED }i\ A KOri,)!]:!', 
 Be tills the inlssioii of the flowers. 
 
 O lift thy incmory's cliamber latch 
 
 With porfiime, drawn from heavens far skio: 
 To bring thee odors of sweet days, 
 
 AVliieh youth has tinged with fadeless dyes. 
 To stir tlu' dr<'ani fire in thy heart 
 Till it (loth live, in truest art. 
 
 Kemeinbcring the orilays 
 
 That rosi' from meadows fresh and fair 
 The birds that swing on willow boughs. 
 
 Half-drunk with May's delieious air: 
 The hum of burly bumble-bee 
 From sodded licld and orchard tree. 
 
 The lowing herds, the bleating flocks. 
 And sudden dash of fleeting showers, 
 
 The tranquil sky at even-tide, 
 
 And languid pace of mid-day hours. 
 
 The broad eaved barn, where rose the din. 
 
 Of swallows when the hay came in. 
 
12 
 
 Tlic ])rari('-lily, scarlet plumed, 
 
 And osier, tufted o'er with white. 
 
 The undulations (like the sea) 
 
 Of fields that stretch beyond the sight. 
 
 The cloud mirage, uplifted dim 
 
 Against the sky's inverted rim. 
 
 The far off crimson of the west 
 
 Which filled thy soul with fairest dream 
 The moon's pale light that melted through 
 
 The twilight shades, with steady beam 
 And distant call of whip-poor-will. 
 When summer nights were cool and still. 
 
 Remembering these early scenes, 
 
 Thy soul shall drink the draughts of peace: 
 And thought shall rise on stronger wing, 
 
 While burdening cares and doubt will cease 
 Remembering, remembering 
 Will keep thy heart in childhood's spring. 
 
 -S^^ 
 
13 
 
 P 
 
 Ope, 
 
 ^ /^h OPE, like the day, liatli wing; 
 
 Soon as its wliisperings 
 ^^ ^^ Have touched our liearts. 
 Unhid it glides away, 
 E'cii as the fliglit of day 
 AVIien liglit departs. 
 
 As day unhid returns. 
 And morning gently hums 
 
 Her incense sweet, 
 So. hope will come again, 
 And he as dear as when 
 
 H vanished fleet. 
 
14 
 
 ^0r)(2r ot fric Uarl^. 
 
 '■'^^^jr^ VER the ineadow-lands flashing with ch'W, 
 
 All the wild heather and woody dells tiiroiigli 
 
 Floating upon the soft zephyrs of ]\Iay. 
 
 Rising in triumph to meet the new day : 
 Up to the sunlight and out of the dark. 
 Hark ! hark ! it's the song of the lark. 
 
 Rolling in billows of silvery notes 
 
 O'er the fresh fields, where the drowsy mist floats. 
 
 Touchiug the shores of our indolent_sense 
 
 With new impulse of life, from a fair providence: 
 
 Swift as an arrow sent sure to its mark. 
 
 Hark! hark! it's the song of the lark. 
 
 Putting the chords of the spirit in tune 
 With nature's great heart, and unceasing'ninc. 
 Opening the gates to the ideal land, 
 Placing our feet on its infinite strand. 
 Waking, renewing the hope that was stark. 
 Hark! hark! it's the song of the lark. 
 
 Blessed be the matin of grey meadow-bird 
 From valleys of bloom; wherever it's heard 
 'Twill cast a bright spell on drearysome way 
 As beams of the sun o'er dark waters play. , 
 Up from the low-lands to heavens blue arc. 
 Hark! hark! it's the song of the lark. 
 
15 
 
 B 
 
 ir)C]?sor). 
 
 [^— ^#^ WELLER upon the heiglits far reaching and sublime. 
 
 ^^^■^ *^^0n whose uncovered peaks no clouds of passing time 
 
 ■Shut down, nor shadowed spell weaves in its darker thread 
 'Mong golden warp and woof, where e'er thy thought hath 
 
 Thy hope doth anchor men to things most truly just! [led. 
 
 lireaking their slavish chains, freeing from letliel rust. 
 
 So dost thou lead the train of struggling thoughts of mine 
 
 Upward, slowly upward to grander thought of thine. 
 
 Dead (s31a ^G(ap. 
 
 /^^ EI) yt'a-i' is dead, 
 l^ftHis vassals fled, 
 ^^^pLow are the echoes of his dirge 
 ""^^ From wood, and hill, and ocean-surge 
 
 Old year is dead. 
 
 No more his tread 
 
 The blushing flowers of June will stir; 
 
 Oblivion holds his calendar. 
 
16 
 
 ^^e Wcsf. 
 
 HE west, the west, the broad fair west, 
 ^^glB^Vhere the millions' feet are turning, 
 ,^^ Where the new-made hearths of pioneers 
 
 Like beacons bright are burning. 
 Where boundless plains are swept by winds 
 Unstained by slavish story. 
 And mountain peaks still wear in peace. 
 Their matchless robes of glory. 
 
 The west, the west, the mighty west. 
 That fears no base oppression; 
 Throws open its asylum gates 
 To all the world's procession. 
 There's freedom in its bracing air. 
 The leaping cascade speaks it: 
 An unchained spirit stirs the heart 
 And brain of him who seeks it. 
 
 Tlie west, the west, the youthful west. 
 
 With giant arms unfolding. 
 
 In regal strength, and purpose grand. 
 
 The nation's life is moulding. 
 
 To-morrow's worth, and wealth and pf)W('r. 
 
 Yes. all the future ages. 
 
 With earnest thought, will gladly pay 
 
 Their tributes to its sages. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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