AUTUMN DAYS. 
And if, witL. melanclioly franglit, 
Tliey toncli the pensive heart, 
’Tis only for the painful thought. 
They must so soon depart. 
There is a bird, whose sweetest strains 
With her last breath are passed; 
So N’ature, of her hues, retains 
Her loveliest till the last. 
The sweetest children soonest die ; 
The saint’s triumphant song, 
Ne’er pours such heavenly melody, 
As from his dying tongue. 
Then linger, lovely Autumn days, 
Our hearts with peace to fill, 
To soothe us with thy softened rays, 
O, linger, linger still. 
