Smyrna times., 1877-05-02
VOLUME XXII.--NO. 4S.
THE SEASONS.
By LILLE BELL.

Fair Spring has come with soft and balmy breeze,
The trees are putting forth their infant leaves anew
The little lamb is frisking in the field,
Or quiet lies beside the grazing eve.
The little chicks flock to the cucking hen.
The seven-seepers leave their earthly den.
The crcling bats now round the chimneyS fly,
The butterflies amid the flowers rove;
The apple blooms that on the branches blow,
Make low whisperngs like lovers in a grove.
The robin pipes his merry carol forth,
Aurora sometimes designs to light our north.
Sweet Summer comes with all her verdant robes,
Deck'd as a maiden in her blooming years;
Roses blush among the many flowers,
Rain falls, like woman smiling through her tears.
The warbling songs of birds that's ever new
Like incense float towards the vaulted blue
The rolling billows of the golden wheat
Like mOonbeams phOsphOrescent sea;
The silv'ry oats that rears its nodding head
The well-fled pods of the Sugar-pea.
Ripe MELONS plucked from the running vine,
Purple grapes hang brimful of luscious wine.
Our orchards, ladened with their spicy fruit,
Now fling blazOn banner DER our land;
The wild grapes cluster by the babbling streams,
Shedding their blood upon the grass and sand.
Tall graceful ferns and vines the bank adOrn.
Nature now clothes with beauty all the hills,
The months roll on still adding deeper bloom;
The hectic flush of Autumn now appears,
That tells the year is fastening to the tomb.
The dying glory speaks of parting day,
When the sun, that made it bright, hath fed away.
The murmurng brooks still keep their ceaseless Aow
The eastern winds weaving Autumns pail
And dirges echo through the wooded dell,
Chanting an anthem to the leaves that fall.
Tonight insects give an unquet rest,
The day has passd-the resting yeoman blest.
The coming harvest rich with Indian maize,
Is strewn in yellow heaps upon the field;
The huskers' song is heard from morn till eve,
Which tells how plenteous will be the yield.
The rattle of rude wagons now is stilled,
The air with the chrp of the cricketS filled.
The bursting chesnuts on the tOpmost boughs,
Each little urchin with his comrades vie
To climb the tree, and win the bounteous prize,
Needless of the gray squirrel scamperng by.
The sheep creep to their folds at eventide.
The squealing pigs crowd closer side by side.
The cocks shrill call re-echOes DER the hill,
The twittcring birds have sought a warmer home
Aud-masons, that around the gables build,
Have closed their nests, and bees have sought the
comb
Like strains of .Eous on the breeze,
The wind sighs mOurnful through the leafes,
trees
Famed Indian Summer with her golden haze,
Tells us that Winter is close at hand;
Our garners stored with fruits and yellow gran
While bare is laid the beauties of our land.
Bleak clouds are drifting DER the sky serene,
While snow and ice close in the Autumn scene.
The storm may rage wthOut-shut to the door
Draw up the chair beside the blazing hearth;
Home voices greet the weary farmers ear,
That make his heart beat high with joyous mirth
The horse and COW resting in their stall,
The snow has for the earth her pail.
Past time now rests in thee, Eternity,
The infant year is cradled in the old
Christmas, thy chants resOunded full and clear
New Year, thy masses now are being told.
Ye bells ring out your joyous chime,
Proclaim the living God in every Cline
TOWNSEND DEL, June s, 1876.
-FrOBl the Golden Era.