Tonight, of the Past I am thinking— Of one of the Autumn's bright days When the beautiful hills of old Hartford Were covered with October haze,— When the leaves, all russet and golden Came rustling down, and the breeze Seemed bent upon mischief, dispelling The radiant garb of the trees.
Where the Oak and the Elm stand, defying The wrath of the tempest's fierce blast— Through the thicket, where warble the wild-birds And the chipmunk goes scurrying past.— To the brilliant-hued, picturesque landscape No color could artist e'er lend On this day, when o'er hill and thro' valley I wandered in search of a friend.
In search of a dear loved one, dwelling In a quiet, surburban retreat— The friend whose kind manner e'er charmed me— Whom I long had been hoping to greet. And I found her at last, my friend Emma! As at last thro' the garden I walk. She was sitting quite close by the window— And I found her there—mending a sock!
