VISIT TO THE BIRTHPLACE.
Bright summer's flush was on thee, clime beloved,
When last I trod thy vales. Now, all around,
Autumn her rainbow energy of tint
Poureth o'er copse and forest, beautiful,
Yet speaking of decay. The aspiring pine
Wears his undying green; but the strong oak,
Like smitten giant, casts his honours down,
Strewing brown earth with emerald and gold.
Yon lofty elms, the glory of our land,
So lately drooping 'neath their weight of leaves,
With proud, yet graceful elegance, to earth,
Stand half in nakedness, and half in show
Of gaudy colours. Hath some secret shaft
Wounded the maple's breast, that thus it bends
Like bleeding warrior, tinging all its robes
With crimson? while in pity by its side,
The pallid poplar, turning to the eye
Its silver lining, moans at every breeze.
I roved in sadness through those alter'd scenes.
The voice of man was painful. On the ear
Idly and vague it fell, for tearful thought
Wrought inward, mid the faded imagery
Of early days.
See there, yon low-brow'd cot,
Whose threshold oft my childish foot has cross'd
