THOU frigid tyrant, dark and stern November!
We shrink before thee, and shall long remember
Thy levin fires, untimely thunder volleys,
That in dread tones rebuked our crimes and follies.
Thy scowling eyes through veiling clouds are glaring
On the pale face of Nature rudely baring,
Her shivering form her leafy garments strewing
O'er field and wood-discoloured heaps of ruin.
Earth's blasted treasures shrunken, blackened lie
On many a field beneath thy cruel eye;
Red grave-yards swell o'er many little heaps-
Her buried treasures the pale mother weeps.
The factory wheels-too oft the wheels of life-
Stand still; and pining wants and woes are rife ;
On the cold hearth, and by the naked bed,
Gaunt misery cowering sits-half-warmed, half-fed.
But now let rigours of the season move
To generous sympathy and deeds of love :
So that the poor have cause long to remember
With gratitude even thee, dark stern November.
A SOLEMN, tender melancholy---
A soft emotion, sweet and holy;
A sense of stillness and repose,
O'er my worn heart and spirit flows.
I feel the breathing calm that lies
On earth, and sea, and sleeping skies,
Upon the yellow voiceless woods,
Where fading Nature mournful broods;
The stubble-field, brown, silent, bare-
Not even a gleaner wandering there.
I seem by the death-couch to stand
Of some grey
Father of the land,
Whose fading hue, and failing breath,
And voiceless lips, give sign of death,
And hark! 'mid twilight shadows dim,
The Robin chaunts his funeral hymn.
Now, o'er the landscape slowly sailing-
Robes of mist around her trailing-
Comes the Night, bright, mild, and gracious;
Through the blue ethereal spacious,
Walks the full-orbed moon in splendourChaste, serene, and meekly tender.
Dost thou gaze—Heaven's fairest daughter—
On western fields of cruel slaughter;
Fall thy beams, with weeping grace,
On many a pale and gory face,
In purple pools of blood reflected-
Whence peace and mercy fly rejected?*
Dost thou, beauteous orb benign,
On the captive patriot+ shine,
And on that more than regal head
Thy gentle, soothing influence shed?
And while on prison-couch he lies,
Tracing thy course through midnight skies,
Oh! whisper in his wakeful ear,
With spirit voice, soft words of cheer-
And say that Liberty divine
Shall call him yet to guard her shrine.
* Civil war in U. S. America. + Garibaldi in Prison.
GO SPREAD thy strong pinions, and rear thy proud crest,
Cleave the red clouds of morn with unwavering breast;
Bold eagle! full soon on thy unshrinking eyes
Shall the young sun of freedom in splendour arise!
The vultures of Tyranny shrink from thy glance,
And Liberty smiles as she sees thee advance;
She hails her brave Nizard, the true bird of Jove,
With the bolts of the Thunderer he swoops from above!
Ye demons of torture, ye fiends of the cells,
Where death-breathing vapours and dark horror dwells,
Avaunt! lo, your dungeons are shattered and riven,
And their secrets are bared to the pure light of Heaven.
The brilliants are dimmed that encircle the crown
Of earth's proudest Despot, thou chief of renown,
By the bright gleaming lightnings that flash from the
brand
Thou wield'st in the van of thy conquering band.
AGAIN, again, and yet again,
I have sung of thee, October!
Ah! not in joyous, jocund strain,
Grave the lay, subdued, and sober.
The waning life, and waning year,
Gravely, calmly, sympathising;
The thin grey locks, and woodlands sere,
Mutely, fitly, harmonising.
Young budding April, blooming May,
Flowery June, and July glowing,
Each in their turn a tribute lay,
August in thy lap o'erflowing,
See September's tresses yellow,
Waving o'er her teeming bosom,
Crown'd with fruitage rich and mellow,
Born of many a summer blossom.
October breathing on the bowers,
Through the yellow woods is stealing; 'mid falling leaves and faded flowers, Nature's dying form revealing.
No cooing dove, no warbler gay,
Is singing in the branches now,
Yet soft the chasten'd sunbeam's play
October on thy placid brow.
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