The Whig standard. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1843-1844, 1843-11-06

AUTUMN.
!" The melanchols dass.are come,
The saddest Of the year"

ne HlfJanCnots are come,
The saddest Of the year"
This is to us the sadest sweetest season of the
year. "Summer's gone" How much melan-
choly meaning is there in this single expression,
especially when looking abroad upon the fields
bereft Of their golden harvests, its truth is every
where in the change OF natures vesture 1t re-
quires not the language of poetry TO tell us that
9 the harvest is passed. the summer is ended, ;"
and winter approacheth; the lonely flower, .sthe
last rose Of summer" and the declining rays Of
| the sun, all tell us in language stronger than
poetry, that the " summers gone" ts
There is a kind Of pleasing melancholy, says
La beautiful writer, that comes over the mind in
its contemplations, of autumn, which may be
lkened to the feelings of the faithful Christian
| when about to enter upon the dark valley Of the
! shadow of death. He has passed the seed-time
and summer OF life, and is standing amidst the
shadows and glooms of that last autumn which
brings the harvest of all his tolls and the reward
| of all his labors
| The killing frost of autumn falls not alone
upon the green and beautiful vegetation of the
earth: "man too has his autumn" When he
arrives at the evening of his existence, those
beauties which adorned the spring of his youth
| and the summer of manhood, begin TO discover
the autumnal tint-here and there leaf has
forsaken its parent branch; his joys and delights
| all have emigrated to another country--winged
their way over the sea of time, and taken pos
session of a more benignant region
The youthful prospect is bedecked with the
evergreen verdure of spring. But the advanced
harbingers of the dreary winter that is fast APP
preaching.
| The young, however, see nothing melancholy
| in autumn They may well ask,
| "What is there saddening in the autumn leaves"'
When they look abroad upon our rich and va
riegated forest scenery,
When first the frost
Turns into beauty all October's charms
| To their Young eyes only the bright colors are
visible, or if they see the darker hues they only
| behold them as SO many shades to give relief TO
the beautiful painting upon natures canvass.
Peculiar to this country, we believe, is that
delicious, but melancholy season, which we de-
nominate the "Indan Summer" and which,
like the last blaze of the lamp previous to its
extinguishment, usually ushers in "November's
has been beautifully depicted by one Of America s
sweetest poets, Brainaro, in the following lines:
INDIAN SUMMER
What is there saddening in the autumn leaves
| Have they that green and yellow melancholy
| That the sweet poet speaks off Had he seen
| Our variegated woods, when first the frost
| Turns into beauty all October's charms
| When the dread fever quits us-when the storm
| Of the wild Equinox, with all its wet ~
| Has left the land, as the first deluge left II,
| With bright bow of many colors hung
| Upon the forest tops--he had not sighed
The moon stays longest for the hunter now
| The trees cast down their fruitage and the blithe
| And busy squirrel hords his winter store,
| While man enjoys the breezc that sweeps along
| The bright blue sky above him, and that bends
| Magni6cently all the forests pride,
Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks,
| What is there saddening in the autumn leaves'