Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1841-11-19
TEA CHINGS AUTUMN
NY r. w. r. GREENWOOD.

son are UNMARRIED, and they arc so true, so
deep, so near to the fountain of our life, that
they are always powerful. Time after time
We may go into the autumnal wood, and,
while the yellow leaves fall slowly down, and
touch the earth with sound so soft that il
is almost silence, the self same thoughts
shall be suggested to us, and not appear
hackneyed or old. They shall be as af1ec-
ting the last time as the first. They shall
even, like the words of fine poetry, Of an
cient prayer, endear themselves by repeti-
ton. Are they not poetry are they not
prayer When nature and the earth con-
verse together, they converse like old friends
on familiar and domestic things, on truths
that cannot lose their intcrest-the COM
mon but eternal truths of morality. So conf
pletc is the system which runs through the
visible universe, that there are evident an
alogios and sympathies between our mortal
condition, and the condition of all outward
things. These anaIpgics and sympathies are
the same in every aga They are observed,
felt, uttered, at all fines. The utterance Of
them is transmitted from Y spa, to mouth
They often arise to the same tear,h and the
same lips; but myecannot weary of the fl
nal truth ofhis mortal condition. They are
his poetry-his prayer Ills poetry, %:nile
they rest in the prescn. world, and liepfay-
er when they are united with the future, aod
with God.
And what are the suggestions of autumn !
What do we think, and whatydo we say,
when we behold the leaves falling, the grass
whitening and the flowers fading The
peasant, as he pauscs in his toll ; the cottage
dame as she sits at her door the man of
business, when he quits the paved and crow
ded streets; The young as well as the old,
aye, and the giddy and the gay as well as
the serious, all express essentially the same
sentiment which poets express, and which the
prophet exclaimed, and the apostle repeated
long centuries ago. call flesh is grass"
says she prophet, "and all the goodness there
Of is as the flowers of the field" "For all
is grass, repeats the apostle, "and all the
glory of man as the flower of grass" That
is the moral which never tires. That is the
feeling which is as old as the time when the
first leaf fell dry and shriveIed al the feet
of the first man, and as recent as the pres
ent season of decadencc and death. The
conviction that all the goodness of mans
mortol frame, that all the glory of mans
earthly prospects, hopes and plans, is the
beauty of withering grass, and the array of
perisling flowers, is borne to all hearts by
the signing winds of autumn. Oh bond I'M
broken between natures frailiest children
and ourselves who is not concious ofits re-
atty and its force ?-Oll primitive brother
hood between herbs and blossoms and the
sons of men; between the green things
which spring up and then withcr, and the
bright things Which unfold and then fade,
between these, and countcnanccs which
bloom and then change, eyes, which spark
led and then are qnenched, breathing and
blessed forms which appear in loveliness and
then are gone who does not acknowledge
its claims of kindred "Surely the peo-
pie Is grass ;-surey there is no more sta
blity in the strongest of mankind, than in
"the grass of the field, which to-day is, and
Tomorrow is cast into the oven."
Go into the fields and the woods, when
"the wind of the ord'' has blown upon them
when the blasts and the frosts of autumn have
baen dealing with them. A change has pas
sed over every thing, from the lofiiest and
broadcast tree Of tie forests down to the little |
wild plants at its roots. Winged seeds are
borne about by the f,ful gusts. Leaves de-
scend in dark showers. Dry and bare stems
and stalks hoarsely rattle against each other
the skeletons of what they were. You can
not raise your eyes, but you look upon the
dying you cannot move, but you step upon
the dead. Leaves and flowers are returning
to the dust--can you forbear thinking, that
in this universal destiny they are like your
self? Dust thou art, and unto dus, thou shalt
return. Can you torbear thinking that the
successive generations ofmcn, like the sue
cessivc generations Of leaves and flowers,
have been cut off ny the death-frost, and
mingled with the common earth And are |
not individual names whispered to your mem-
DRY by the dying fragrance, end the rustIing
sounds-names Of those who flourislled, faded
and fell in your sight? Perhaps you think
Of the fair infant, who like the last tender
leaf put forth by plant, was not spared for
its tenderness, but compelled to drop like
the rest. Perhaps your thoughts dwell on
the young man, who full OF vigor and hope,
verdant in fresh affections, generous pur-
poses, and high promises, and bearing to you
some name which means more to the hear,
than to the ear, friend, brother, son, hus-