Maumee City express. [volume] (Maumee City, Ohio) 1838-184?, 1838-09-08
4 SANDS.


Well-the reign of autumn, for the present
year, has come and there will doubtless be
the annual quotations of description in the
newspaper market. Some oft will remain On
first hands, and the rest will find ready cir
culation. Meditation will vent itself upon
apostrophe poetry will be engenderel old
songs will be re-sung. 1t is, In truth, deli
cions season, and no one can be blamed for
yielding himself up to its influences. When
the first yellow surges Of September sunlig hit
seem to roll through the atmosphere when
the dust of the city street, as you look at some
stately carriage, whose wheels are flashing
towards the west, seems rising around them
like an atmosphere, colored betwixt the hue
Of gold and crimson when the mountains put
on their beautiful garments, where tints OF the
rainbow mingle with the aerial blue OF the sky :;
when the winds have melancholy music in
their tone, and the heaven above us is enrobed
surprising purity and lustre-then, the dwell
ers in great capitals may perhaps conceive of
the richness and frution of the country but
they cannot approach the reality. The harvest
moon has waned the harvest home been held I;
the wheat is in the garner the last peaches
hang blushing on the topmost branches where
they grew the fragrant apples lie in fairy
colored mounds beneath the orchard trees, and
the cheerful husbandman whistles at the cider
press. AS September yields her withered
sceptre into the grasp of October, the hills be,
gin to invest themselves IN those many color
ed robes which are the livery of their new
sovereign. As my observant friend Ia well be-
loved Epinetus,) who hath discourscd of mat
iers outre-mer, so richly hymns it, then there
comes I....0a-
A mellow richness on the cluster'd trees
And from beaker full of richness dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in might the pilared clouds,
Morn on the mountain, like summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing and in the Wales
The gentle wind, sweet and passionate
wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep Grim
soned,
And silver beech, the maple yellow leayed--
Where Autumn, like faint old man, sits
down
By the way -sde-a weary. Thro' the trees
The golden robin moves the purple finch
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winterbird comes with its plaintive whistle
And pecks by the witch hazel while aloud,
From cottage roofs, the warblng blue ebird
sings.
To me- there is nothing of that dark solom-
nity about the autumna season, which it has
to the morbid or the foreboding. 1t comes,
laden with plenty, and breathing of peace
There seems sweet monition in every whist e
of the gale, and the rustic of every painted
leaf which may speak "a word of tranquility to
the contemplative mind. Ifthere be sadness
around and within, it is the sadness which is
cherished, and the gloom that purifes it is
that doubtful twilight of the heart, which is
succeeded at last by glorious morning. We
think with the serene and heavenly minded
Macomb, of the distant, or the departed, who
have gone before us to lay down their heads
upon pillows of clay, and repose in the calm
monotony of the tomb. Reflection asserts her
sway and the spirit expands into song.