Indian Summer

Light, as love's smiles, the silvery mist at morn Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river; The bluebird's notes, upon the soft breeze borne, As high in air she carols, faintly quiver: The weeping birch, like banners idly waving, Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving; Beaded with dew the witch elm's tassels shiver; The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping, And from the springy spray the squirrel's gayly leaping.

I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes That gayly deck the slow-declining year; I love the splendour of thy sunset skies, The gorgeous hues that tinge each falling leaf, Lovely as Beauty's cheek, as woman's love too brief; I love the note of each wild bird that flies, As on the wind she pours her parting lay, And wings her loitering flight to summer climes away.

Oh, Nature! still I fondly turn to thee With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were; Though wild and passion-toss'd my youth may be, Towards thee I still the same devotion bear; To theeto theethough health and hope no more Life's wasted verdure may to me restore I still can, childlike, come as when in prayer I bow'd my head upon a mother's knee, And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity.