Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1858-11-06
MtstellaneoMs
For the Anttsiavery Bugle.
A Z OF OCTOBER.
BIZ MRS. cELbsriA R. COLBY.

|H Az oi shC oiiOJ u ~ 0O'f
No lily blooms tina. tells Of toll,
And | a while would live like these
Dream still of peace, and only peace"
Autumn is blessing US with her bright, but tickle
smiles. | love the autumn time. The melan'
choly days" have no sadness for me. The coronal
of beauty that October wears, is dearer to me
than the budding charms Of spring, or the
mature glory of summer. These mild fair days,
when the sun seems to pause on his southern jour
ney, to look back with q wooing, tender smile over
all the fields AID hill sides, and to ditfuse an at
m~osphere of holy peace, as his parting benediction
ARE each a Jewel in the crown of the year and
the bright but feeting visit Of the "1nGian Sum-
mer" in our changefuI cline is a fitting prelude to
the wild wintry d~esolatiou that fellows in tho cease
less march Of time.
There is a Joy in existence, and | draw long
breaths Of the sweet air. so pure, and so delicious,
and at each inhalation feel that it is a bliss to
breathe There is q mystic influence abroad on
the air. something that sleeps the soul in a dreamy
forgetfulness, and bears it away on the starry PIN
ions of thought, from the darkened haunts of care,
out into the joyous sunshine, and light joy and
peace flow in like n bright rill Of beauty, ripping
through all it's secret chambers, making sunshine
and song, where all was gloom and sadness.
love to linger in this Greenland of forgctful'
ness, and remember no more the cares oil this busy
work.day world, to give the pencil up to the souls
artist. Imagination, and gaze enraptured upon the
fairy scenes that laugh into life beneath the magic
of her skillful touch. | love to build bright 'cas'
ties in the air." baseless though they be; and to
people them with the good, the great, the gifted
A.. .y.J -o, o,J yonna rho 0re what nv soul
longs to be. And who shall tell Us to a certainty,
that these delicious day-dreams are all in vain;
that the soul gathers no strength, no inspiration,
from It's silent communings with the ideal world I
Does it not really return to the toll and strife oil ev'
erv day existence with a new energy, and work
with new zeal, enriched forever by the pure model
enshrined within, as
"Thro' the paltry stir and strife
CLOVIS down the wished Ideal,
And Longing molds in clay, what Life
Carves in the marble, Real"
Dull and barren must be that life, that has no Sc.
cret audience chamber where the voice of earth is
no, heard, where Toll Fever clanks its rusty letters
nor binds them around the soaring aspirations
where the voice Of God is heard at eventide, and
the soul rises strong in its own native heaven born
powers, TO learn, and do his will, to forge upon the
anvil Of Action, all the rich beauty OF its Hottest
thought. This is the legitimate day-dream, to
which the sweet air of October invites (; and 1T does
not enervate, but strengthens the soul, does not
unfit us for lite and its stern duties, but makes ex'
is,enee beautiful, and duty a pleasure.
How much of life. of its highest enjoyment dc
they lose who quench all the upspringlng aspira'
tions within. that soar and sing above the routine
Of daily toll, who put out the lamp OF intellect
and bind every wish, every thought, captive to
the wheel of ceasless toil-that wheel which has
been a Juggernaut to many a chez ished hope-and
plod on in the dusty beaten track,
"Content With merely living"
and feed and decorate this poor physique, while
they starve and cruelty the intellect.
How l long to purge away the dross from such
a life, and show them the pure gold to brush down
the dust and cobwebs from the darkened window
of the soul and let them look out into the sun
shine, and see and feel its glory, to remove the bur
den from their backs and let them stand erect and
exult in their own uprightness.
How l should rejoice to take them by the hand
and lead them out from the dark prison house Of
unbelief and gloomy sectarianism, to break fowl
the middle wall OF PARTITION" and let them haV'
one glimpse of God as a loping Father who ha'
clothed all his works with glory and beauty, ant
whose smile is beaming upon US from every fowe
of the field and whose "word" has gone fortl
into all the world breathing "peace' and onl
peace and "good will to man."
Mt from the glowing page of Nature have man
kind learned war and oppression. There is n
"Thus saith the Lord" traced upon earth or SIX,
but that of lore, no sanction given to the evil pas
sions of the human heart. But the voice of natur
is to soothe, subdue, purify, elevate, refine an
spiritualize the grosser elements of our nature, an
bring them all into harmony. Sweet is the voice
less communion Of the soul with its Author, as
ascends to Him through the medium of the vlsibl
creation. There is a lofty companiOnshio in tn
solitude of Nature-to be alone with Nature an
her God. to hear no sonnet save the echoing CHI
rus Of that great anthem which she ever sings I
her Creator, and feel the heart thrill in notes re
spopsive to its low sweet music.
Hove to sit down amid the falling leaves upon tn
gorgeous cushion of crimson and gold that adorn
the lap Of regal October, and feel the rustling CT
ress of ripened leaves that futter on bright wing
earthward and listen to the song of the breeze a
Il sweeps through the boughs. and see the thicl
ening shower Of flying leaves chasing each other i
wild and joyous glee. There is no sadness there
There is no mourning in the wind. no clinging
the parent tree, after the life mission is fulfilled
but 4 ready obedience to the wise law of chang
that ever brings life and beauty out of decay an
death.
q I love to sit silently and reverently among thes
silent teachers, and dream and muse of life. dealt
and the 'tto come" while l inhale the fresh odorr
and con over sweet scraps of poetry. which wer
laid away in the casket Of menory in the days
long ago, and which come building up as the q
ting voice of the soul-and l welcome these brigh
waits of genius. that have hoated to me like spara
ling fragments Of some shipwrecked Argosy. owe
the blue sea Of literature. I know not whence @