1830-40.] WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER 137 AUTUMN IN THE WEST.* The Autumn time is with us ! — Its ap- proach "Was heralded, not maiij days ago, By hazy skies, that vail'd the brazen sun, And sea-hke murmurs from the rusthng corn, And low-voiced brooks that wandered drow- sily By pendent clusters of empurpling grapes. Swinging upon the vine. And now, 'tis here ! And what a change hath pass'd upon the face Of Nature, where the waving forest spreads. Then robed in deepest green ! All through the night The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art ; And in the day the golden sun hath wrought True wonders ; and the winds of morn and even Have touched with magic breath the chang- ing leaves. And now, as wanders the dilating eye Across the varied landscape, circling far. What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp Of colors, bursts upon the ravish'd sight ! Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest, A golden glory ; yonder where the oak Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad The dogwood spreads beneath, a rolling flood Of deepest crimson ; and afar where looms The gnarled gum, a cloud of bloodiest red !
High o'erhead, Seeking the sedgy brinks of still lagoons That bask in Southern suns the winter thro',
- From "Miami Woods.'
Sails tireless the unerring water-fowl. Screaming among the cloud-racks. Oft from Avhere, In bushy covert hid, the partridge stands. Bursts suddenly the whistle, clear and loud, Far echoing through the dim wood's fret- ted aisles. Deep murmurs from the trees, bending with brown And ripened mast, are interrupted now By sounds of dropping nuts ; and warily The turkey from the thicket comes, and swift As flies an arrow darts the pheasant down. To batten on the autumn ; and the air, At times, is darkened by a sudden rush Of myriad wings, as the wild-pigeon leads His squadrons to the banquet. Far away, Where the pawpaw its mellow fruitage yields. And thick, dark clusters of the wild grape hang, The merry laugh of childhood, and the shout Of truant school-boy, ring upon the air. ^ T^ ^ ^ ^ ^ End of the vemal year ! — The flower hath closed And cast its petals, and the naked stalk Stands shriveling in the frost ; the feath- ered grass Is heavy in the head ; the painted leaf Fhes twittering on the Avind ; and to the earth Falls the brown nut, with melancholy sound. Yet the low, moaning autumn wind, that sweeps The seeded grass and lately-blossoming flower. Bears the light germs of future life away. And sows them by the gliding rivulet, And o'er the plain, and on the mountain side.
