FOOTSTEPS OF THE SEASONS. 199 



sceptre, and walk with complacent joy over the fields where the green 

 fruits are hanging, and through the forests where leaves begin to fall. 

 Slowly, one by one, the leaves and flowers fade and fall ; the sweet 

 songsters take their departure, for they cannot stay in a world whieh 

 is becoming reft of floral loveliness ; and when Time shall come 

 again, after the lapse of one winter's frost, he will see fresh flowers in 

 fragrant blow, and when he shall meet the gentle summer, — 



" At this same place, 

 She'll look as lovely as of old, 

 For there will spring another race 



Of flowers, from out the upturn'd mould, 

 That have been buried long ago." 



Now may we sing the farewell song of another season : — 



" Farewell to thee, sweet summer-time, thy sunny prime is o'er; 

 Thy dewy light, and golden sheen, shall tinge the woods no more ; 

 The trees that blossom'd in thy beams stand wither'd, bare around ; 

 The leaves that rustled in thy breath lie faded on the ground !" 



B. B. Wale. 



Yes ! fare thee well, sweet Summer : take our parting tears with 

 thee, and as thou sleepest on thy leafy couch, till the little brown 

 birds shall awaken thee with their twitterings in the sedges, dream 

 peacefully in thy poppy-land of slumber, and rest in quietness and 



joy- 

 Nature's welcome sounds not within the breast of one alone, and 

 a younger hand, prompted by as wild a joy as ever burned in poet's 

 heart, had dipped his pencil into the dye of the forest, to paint the 

 semblance of the season: — 



" When Autumn, bleak, and sun-burnt do appear, 

 "With his gold hand gilting the falling leaf, 

 Bringing up Winter to fulfil the year, 



Bearing upon his back the riped sheaf; 

 When all the hills with woody seed is white, 

 When levying fires, and lemes, do meet from far the sight : 



" When the fair apple, rudde as even sky. 

 Do bend the tree unto the fructile ground, 

 When juicy pears, and berries of black die. 

 Do dance in air and call the eyne around; 

 Then, be the even foul, or even fair, 

 Methinks my hearte's joy is stained with some care." 



Chattertox. 



