Come, at the sultry noontide heat,
And lead me to a cool retreat,
Where a delicious fountain
Profusely issues from a rock,
Rent by an earthquake's awful shock-
The foot of yonder mountain.
There let me join the reaper's ring,
And quaff the waters of the spring,
Transmuted into switchel;
A nectar which the gods might sip,
Or pass the eulogizing lip
Of whaling Doctor Mitchell.
Come with thy table richly spread,
For which no victim's life has bled,
Thy green-corn and potatoes-
Thy blushing cherries-melons sweet
That look impatient to be eat,
And temptingly await us.
Come with thy roses, breathing round
A fragrance not in nature found,
Save in the breath of beauty;
Whose teints no mortal check outvies,
Save hers which borrows from the skies,
The glow of christian duty.
Come with thy diadem of flowers,
Queen of the warm prolific powers
That bring forth vegetation; And let thy heavenly breezes blow, And sweep contagion from below, To dead annihilation.
'Tis true, thy bed-bugs, flies and fleas, 'Musquetoes, wasps, and warlike bees, Tormentingly assail us
Bite, sting, and suck our vital gore,
Until our smarting flesh is sore,
And rest and patience fail us;
But ev'ry evil has its good,
And though we loose a little blood,
Perhaps 'tis all the better;
Heaven writes on mis'ries as they fall,
A saving lesson to us all,
And man must read the letter.
But hark! the hoarse loud thunder roars! From heaven the rushing rain flood pours
The vivid lightning flashes!
It dims my sight......I drop my pen,
The frighten'd muses cry amen
As down the torrent dashes. -
LET other poets flap the plume,
To soar and sing of " Autumn's gloom."
I see no mighty reason
Why Autumn, if improv'd aright
Is not as pregnant with delight
As any other season.
Spring, like a fair but fickle maid,
Soon changes-soon begins to fade,
Though always blithe and charming;
And Winter, wayward, bluff, and wild,
Though grey, is nothing but a child,
With passions oft alarming.
Summer is quite enchanting, too,
Has rosy cheeks-nectareous dew,
But then the earth is toasting
With such insufferable heat,
As if mankind were made to eat,
And only wanted roasting.
But Autumn comes, serenely gay,
In dress more lady-like than May-
More gaudy hues adorning;
Belike a maiden some in years,
Who very beautiful appears,
Fresh painted ev'ry morning.
To yonder forest cast your eye,
With rain-bow tints her colors vie,
And full as transitory;
For ev'ry breeze of heav'n that blows,
Down, down some trembling signal goes,
Of Autumn's fading glory.
Yet under Fall's auspicious reign,
Health, full-fed, bounds along the plain,
With plenty for the morrow;
While gratitude and peace unite,
To fill the soul with pure delight,
And banish ev'ry sorrow.
October, 1820.
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
DO troubles overwhelm thy soul,
Like billows of the ocean,
That o'er the shipwreck'd victim roll,
In terrible commotion ;
Seize bold IMAGINATION's wing,
And soar to heav'n, so seeming,
Or reign a potentate and king-
'Tis all obtain'd by-DREAMING.
Do pain and poverty unite
To rob thee of all pleasure—
Like thieves-break in at dead of night,
And steal away thy treasure,
The treasure of a tranquil mind
With joy and rapture teeming,
Seek-seek, my friend, and thou shalt find
More solid joy in-DREAMING,
For let the world still darker frown
Than night-clouds on creation,
And show'r its tenfold vengeance down,
Its wrath and indignation,
On this devoted head of mine,
One star is still left gleaming,
One light that will forever shine-
The hope the bliss of DREAMING.
The world can neither give nor take
Away these mental riches;
They're mine--and sleeping or awake,
I love the little witches;
They charm my senses to repose,
While cares and want are screaming,
My eyes and ears to mis❜ry close,
And give me peace in-DREAMING.
Whene'er I lay me down to rest,
With toils and sorrows weary-
A heart most feelingly distrest,
And all on earth looks dreary;
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