300 REBECCA S. NICHOLS. [1840-50. Autumn came ! the leaves were falling- Death, the little one was calling : Pale and wan she grew, and weakly, Bearing all her pains so meekly, That to us, she seemed still dearer As the trial-hour drew nearer ; But she left us, hojieless, lonely, Watching by her semblance only : And a little grave they made her, In the church-yard, cold, they laid her- Laid her softly down to rest. With a white rose on her bz-east — Poor Httle Nell ! INDIAN SUMMER. It is the Indian Summer time, The days of mist, and haze and glory. And on the leaves in hues sublime. The Autumn paints poor Summer's story ; "' She died m beauty,'" sing the hours, "And left on earth a glorious shadow ; " ' She died in beauty,' like her Jflowers," Is painted on each wood and meadow : — She perished like bright human hopes, That blaze awhile upon life's altar ; And o'er her green and sunny slopes The plaintive winds her dirges fjalter. It is the Indian Summer time ! The crimson leaves, like coals are gleam- ing. The brightest tints of every clime Are o'er our Western forests streaming; How bright the hours ! yet o'er their close, The moments sigh in mournful duty, And redder light around them glows, Like hectic on the cheek of beauty. Fair maiden, when thy spring is o'ei'. And all thy summer flowers are gath- ered, May Autumn with a golden store, Replace the buds so quickly withered ; And bind unto thy heart this truth, That it may live when dead thy roses, " Religion is the light of youth. And gilds life's Autumn as it closes." SONG. Had I met thee, had I met thee ! In our life's exulting time. When to dream of thee were innocent— To love thee were not crime — My heart had borne the riper fruit, Of a richer, rarer clime — Had I met thee — had I loved thee In our life's exulting time. Had I met thee — had I loved thee ! Ere my life was like the light That divides the fading sunset From the gathering glooms of night. Then my visions had been fairer. And my soul had known no blight, Had I met thee — had I loved thee ! Ere life's sun went out in night ! TO-DAY. As into space, from poet's prophet tongue, Fall cadenced thoughts, harmonious as the spheres; So by Time's voices syllabled and sung, The hours drop down the silent gulf of years ! Farewell, fleet moments ! which are ours no more. How swift ye flew along the dial's way ! And now, transfigured on that distant shore, Ye make the Present's solemn yester- day !
