The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1877-10-11
Autumn Poetry.

You know, or will learn by and by,
that we need never lose anything which
has really made our life blessed, except
by our own fault. If we have taken the
loFeliness around us into heart and soul,
and not merely glanced at it idly, it has
become an Immortal possession; or all
true beauty i poured into our lives out
OF the heart of Him who is the Infinitely
Beautiful, and every gift He bestOws is
perfect and iudestructible.
Have you ever thought about the
shadiug-o of OF one season into another;
how gradual and delicate it is, and what a
charm 1t adds to the year? You can not
tell exactly when midsummer has passed
into autumn, any more than you can
draw a sharp line between the red and
the orange in the rainbow. Nature
shades her cOlOrs more exduisitely than
any artist, and it is in this magical blend
ing that half her poetry is found. The
four seasons make a visible harmony, like
four voices so perfectly accordant that
you hear them as one in song; for there
is an eye-musiC as we'll as that which
enters the ear. r-
Late in August, you come in your
rambles upon some hidden pool of the
woodlands, and find to your surprise, the
water-lilies still awake here and there; and
on the margin of the pond; the most mag
nificent blossom of midsummer, the cardi-
nal flower. What contrast they make
that pure whiteness, crystal born, and
that inimitable ed which seems a burst
of the intensest warmth had hid in the
bosom of the earth! The white clematis,
or virgins bower, hangs its graceful
streameTs along the wood paths, yelling
the departing footsteps OF Summer, whom
Autumn has already come to meet, scat
tering golden rod about, as an admittance
fee into the grounds of the dethroned
queen.
Beautiful poems have been written
about the passing of summer into au-
tumn. Mrs. Hemans sings her regret in
one beginning:
Thou are bearing hence thy roses, -.
Glad Summer, fare thee well! =
Thou art singing thy last melodies
In every wood and dell"
"a Still Day in Autumn by Mrs.
Sarah Helen Whitman, takes you into
the dreamy atmosphere of the beautiful
September days. Here are two or three
stanzas of it:
81 love to wander through the woodlands boary
In the soft light of an autumnal day,
When Summ$r gathers uP her robes OF glory,
8
''How thro' each loved familiar path she fingers,
Serenely smiling through the golden mist,
Timing the wild grape with her dewy fingers
I'LL the cool emerald turns to amethyst!
s.Warm lights are on the sleepy upIands waning
Bsneath soft clio IDS along the hOIizsn rolled,
Till the slant sunbeams tn. ough their ringes
Battle all tue hills in melancholy gold"
In one of Alice Carey's songs of the
autumn days, she writes that:
Summer from her golden collar slips.
And strays through stub6le-ields, and means
aloud =
Save when by fits the warmer air deCeives,
And, stealing hopeful to some sheltered bower,
she lies on pillows of the yellow leaves,
And tries the oil tunes over for an hour
The poet Whittier paints in glowing
words the flowers that blossom between
summer aud fall:
"AIong tho roadside like the flowers Of gold
hat tawny Incas for their gardens wrought,
Hssvy with sunshine, dToops the golden rod;
nd the red pennons of thu cardinal flower
Hang motiOnless upon their upright staves-"
And Longfellow addresses autumn as
coming
with banners, by great gales ingessant famed,
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions e'er the land!'
LowelPs "Indian Summer Reverie' is
| full of splendid description
! ,eThe bi ch, most shy and Iady-lIke Of trees,
Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves,
! And hin's at heT fOregUne gentillties .-
| With some saved relics OF her wealth OF leaves
| "Ibe swamp-oak, with its royal purple on,
/ CfIares red as blood across the setting sun,
as one who pTOUdIieT to a fallen fortune cleaves
| He leoks a sachem, in red blanket wrapt."
| The maple swamps GLOW like sunset sea,
| Each leaf ripple with Its separate flush"
Ehe wood biue up the elm 5 straight stems aspires
| Coiling it, harmless, with aUtumnal fires"
In modern English poets we get, DoV
and then, a glimpse Of glowing color
Tennyson writes of ----. g.
| 'AUtumR laying here and there
a fiery finger on the leaves" ..E
and tells us how one who watches ma