Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1835-01-08
POETRY.
THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

The seasons, too, their annual round shall make;
the Spring sgain shall wake the flowers,
Ind Summer thicker weave her leafy rose
While Auiumn In his ample lap
hall haste to gather up his hasty spols,
IRE angry Winter sends his summons forth,
70 waste the lovely earth" ri. PICKERING.
The lapse Of Time! how rapidly speed on
Times constant wing! day after day
Year afier yrar-and centu les are gone
Like midnight dreams, all silently away.
We've seen the buds come arh-the perish'd leaf
The sapiess tree-we've heard the gentle blast,
Sing To the youthful Spring its happy hymn
We've heard IL, by the ionely rivers, raise
Its JOYOUS voice, like one that gveth praise;
And heard il soTrowing as IL buried fast
To do It. work of deatb-to gather in
The yellow foliage Of the woods-and all
The scentless iowe. s, at Autumn's burial!
We hear 1t now bark 10 the hollow dirge
OF desolate Winter winds they mourn
With melancholy sound be- Idle the urn
tf weed choked rivulet, or bleaky urge
Their traekless way DER plain and frozen lake,
And dTraTy foTest-walk-oT rudely break
Like a wild hot across the frozen springs
On which full loud the skaters iron rings.
Death hath been o'er the land The by past year,
That hath seen all the 'ich and delicate flowers
Spring In the meadow-apds-and disappear,
When the cold days drew on and the green leaves
Deep in the dropping wood put off their bleom,
And, IL a few brief Autumn days decay,
Hath also witnessed Beauty pas away,
Like earihs frail flower, unto the dusky tomb
All many with aching heart will dwell
Upon the year now past away,-ior care
Hath prey'd upon the human mind. and well
Hath sorrows task been learn'd. Time spares
The wild flower on the precpice, nor yet
The briar e, nor the meek violet,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor herb they fade and fall
As men decay, for tits the lot of all
To minele with earth's DUST and go away,
And tc at rest within that silent home,
Where 10y IL nU,-the solitary tomb
IT'S good TO turn from this worlds toll awhile,
Aud muse upon the moments hat are gone
To think upon our well-spent days To bless
The memory Of departed friends wtcse smile,
Like Heavens o"n light had gladden'd us along
Life's heightened pilgrimage. 'ris good To dwell
On our long route through pithless wilderness
And desert spot-by the forsaken well
Whose sparkling and delic ious wave poured life
Into our sinking heats, when suns rode high
And strength grew faint. oh often in the strife
OF this wide world, when trusted friends "pass by
And like The fountain in the desert place,
Wins us TO life and pleasure bnck again.
Is II not good to think ofsuch whose feet
Toiled on unfaltering at our side. and meier
Forsook our way. Yes, tits precious thing
To treasure in our hearts the plying fear
They shed when We were sad,-ov the warm smile
That kindled on their cheek, when life went well
With us, in this most troubious word
The yt ar has gone-a journey of much toll
IL past aud done, and ere we say farewell
Unto our pleasant scenes, tits well Ia turn
From fe's worn track, and gaze each green seen,
Each way side haunt where galy we have been
win friends who'll ne'er to ns-tO earth return