Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1860-11-30
For the Newsdealer.
AUTUMN.

With slow and stately march across the fields,
Where Summer erst had strown her blushing
yields,
And filling all her path with odors sweet,
Flowers marked the imprints of her magic feet,
Stern Autumn comes his rustling feet we hear
Bearing the ripening glories of the year
The ruddy sun, though cloudless is the day,
CLOVIS with softer and more genial ray
"A slumbering haze the airy regions fills,
And in the distance puppies round the hills
This the wierd sun has turned to golden mist,
That all the woods with searching lips has kissed
With every breeze that whispers on its course,
With every wind that flies with fiercer force,
Beneath its yellow weight with noiseless sound,
The gilded leaves fall silent to the ground;
trewng the earth with gold and purphng red,
Fit counterpane for Autumn's kingly bed!
And on the bosom of the fruitful plain
This subtle mist descends in golden rain
And fields of following grain, in mimic seas,
Ripple and wave in each caressing breeze
Thus Autumn wooes the Earth in showers of GOLD
As Zeus Danae wooed, in story old.
A drowsy incense on the air is shed;
The lazy sun comes later from his bed,
And Fastening over to the impatient West,
The sooner sinks to his accustomed rest.
The kindly moon observes his shortened stay,
With borrowed light now lengthens out the day
She smiles serenely Ger the huntsman's camp,
And for the farmer holds her harvest lamp,
As late at eve he drives the homeward vain,
Groaning beneath the sheaves of ripened grain.
The northern blasts begin to shrek and blow,
And naked trees with branches stripped and bare
Shiver before them, in the chilling air
The fallen leaves are whirled again on high,
And CLEAN like stars upon the somber sky.
From the lone shore of far off Hudson's Bay,
Ht,a M
With lusty stroke we see them hurying past,
Outspeedng far, the rushing northern blast
And, too, we hear their hoarse and warning cry
Proclaiming loud "a storm is in the sky
Old grandams say, beside the hearth-stone warm,
Winter behind them, rides upon the storm.
Then there's the rain, down comes the rain,
The drilling, dripping Autumn rain
Dashing against the window pane
Spiteful in it's stormy glee,
Pattering in the mimic sea
That gathers round the door.
The Autumn rama cheerless thing
With naught of joy or hope to bring,
No songs of gladdened fields to sing;
Dull, heavy drops come hurrylng by,
As molten from leaden sky,
And cooled in coming DOWN.
The Summer rain, the Summer rain
How hopeful it's awakening strain,
How joyous sounds its glad refrain
How soft its pattering footsteps fall.
Upon the Towering naples tall,
And groves of whispering pines.
But when the Autumn rain comes down,
Whether in country, whether in town,
Then nature wears her gloomiest frown;
Our thoughts too, like the fading leaf
Assume the hues of natures grief,
Her tears, the Autumn rain
Oh, Autumn of the Summer born,
Season of the golden corn,
Season of the golden leaf,
Like mans, thy glores are too brief!
For sweeping down from boreal plains,
Pregnant with storms and teathery rains.
Comes rolling on the Winter cloud,
Whose snowy skirts are Autumn's shroud.
The storm,-perchance it passes on,
But Autumn and its glories-gone
W. E. NJ.