1850-60.] WILLIAM W. FOSDICK. 473 It strikes its green blades at the zephyrs at noon, And at night at the swift-flying fays, Who ride through the darkness, the beams of the moon, Tlirough the spears and the flags of the Maize ! When Summer is fierce still its banners ai'e green. Each warrior's long beard groweth red. His emerald-bright sword is sharp-pointed and keen, And golden his tassel-plumed head ; As a host of armed knights set a monarch at naught. They defy the day-god to his gaze ; And, revived every morn from the battle that's fought, Fresh stand the green ranks of the Maize ! But brown comes the Autumn, and sere grows the corn. And the woods like a rainbow are dress'd, And but for the cock, and the noontide's clear horn. Old Time would be tempted to rest ; The humming bee fans oflF a shower of gold. From the mullen's long rod as it sways. And dry grow the leaves which protecting enfold The ears of the well-ripened Maize. At length Indian Summer, the lovely, doth come. With its blue frosty nights, and days still. When distantly clear sounds the waterfall's hum, And the sun smokes ablaze on the hill ! A dim vail hangs over the landscape and flood, And the hills are all mellowed in haze. While Fall creeping on, like a monk 'neath his hood, Plucks the thick rustling wealth of the Maize. And the heavy wains creak to the barns large and gray. Where the treasure securely we hold, Housed safe from the tempest, dry shel- tered away. Our blessing more precious than gold ! And long for this manna that springs from the sod, Shall we gratefully give Him the praise, The source of all bounty, our Father and God, Who sent us from heaven the Maize ! THE CATAWBA* 0, WEAK are words to well express The rich, ambrosial fruitiness, Catawba ! of thy juicy flood. Thy delicate, delicious blood, Now vermeil, softer in its dye Than falls in from a rosy sky. Through chapel windows, just as dawn Looks o'er the level of the lawn — Now topaz lighted, and now 'tis kissed With tender tints of amethyst, And changes in the sparkling glass, Like dew-drops in the sunny grass ; Next, with a tinge of gold endued, And now translucent, amber-hued — Change after change so swift succeeds, It catches roses in its beads ! Ambrosial essence, excellent, Thou nectar of the Occident ! Long may the green leaf brightly shine Upon those sunny slopes of vine.
- Dedicated to Nicholas Long-worth.
