The Autumn-Spirit.

Now the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth, bedecked with symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign,
Makes us think about the season of the flowers with a sigh,
When life was lush in every tree-love laughed in every eye,
Whilst her lineaments of beauty were imprinted on the sod,
When the Spring with Winter wrestled, on that gala-day of God!
But the Spring is dead and buried, and the Summer's vital fire,
Like a heap of sullen embers, smoulders ready to expire;
For the Autumn-Spirit, reigning over mountain, vale and plain,
Robes the Earth in royal symbols emblematic of his reign!

Hark! a singing train of seraphim doth o'er its surface pass!
Mark! their flowing robes of flame have singed the green and speary grass!
Witness! every tender blade appeareth tipped and tinged with brown,
And the hedge is hemmed with rose-leaves, which their wings have shaken down,
Though the hind but hears the whirring of ten thousand pinions beat,
Sees a cloud of birds of passage trail its shadow by his feet,
For the pageantry of Heaven hath escaped his optics dim,
And he sees but birds of passage in the God-sent seraphim,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

While his tread is on the mountain, through the valley and the plain,
Like some Fate-commissioned angel, Desolation tracks his train,
And the glory of the Summer and the beauty of the Spring
Form a carpet for his feet, a fading, weird, and worn-out thing!
And his wings distil an odour, as of corpses in perfume,
Warbled through his ghastly whispers sound the sighs of buried bloom,
And his accents are dim echoes from the hollow caves of Death,
And the wailing woods are withered by his cold and crisping breath,
For the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-spirit's reign!

Where the Poet loves to saunter in some unfrequented nook,
Or to sit and learn the language of the ever-babbling brook,
While its glassy surface mirrors the deep gulf of Heaven's blue,
Where the sunny cloud-ships, sailing, point to vapour lands in view,
There the river's creeks are mantled with red leaves and yellow foam,
And its broken banks are scattered with dead branches dipped in loam,
And a wail of desolation through the fading forest hums,
And the Winds grow chill by thinking of the Winter ere it comes,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

Where the lily of the valley and the violet of the copse
Looked like Thoughts incorporated-like embodied youthful Hopes!
Where the golden-tubëd honeysuckle's pipes were interwound
With the ruddy-tinted roses breathing scented music round,
In the field or the forest, by the verdure-sheltered rills,
Where, in green and golden garments, Summer sate among the hills,
There the green is growing yellow, and the yellow turning sere,
And the Summer Sun, made mellow with the Autumn-Spirit's cheer,
Goeth reeling to his slumber every evening more soon,
While with nightly brighter lustre glows the silver-mantled Moon;
For the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

When the sanguine-featured Planet shows her forehead in the west,
While a sea of glowing silver rocks the god of day to rest,
And, above, a cloudy. canopy of purple tinged with gold
In its ruddy-flaming fringes doth the dying Day enfold,
And the drapery of Heaven is enwreathed around the brow
Of bright Eve, whose maiden blushes bathe the Earth in crimson glow,
And that orbëd angel, Vesper, in a flood of rosy light,
Laves her glowing limbs a, moment ere she ushers in the Night;
Then the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Evening wears the symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

When the mellow-voicëd blackbird grows more plaintive in his tone,
And weird Fancy in its echo hears the Summer's dying groan,
While his tale of blissful sorrow doth the soul as much appal
As if some lost angel sang a song of Heaven e'er his fall;
Then the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the twilight wears the symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

When the glow-worm in the coppice on the mossy bank doth lie,
Like a jewel that had fallen from Jove's palace in the sky,
Or a pebble, by some angel cast o'er Heaven's battlement,
That had kindled in its coming by the speed of its descent,
And with soft and saintly lustre gleams and glitters on the sod,
Like a p