AUTUMN DAYS.

A wealth of beauty meets my eye— Yellow and green, and brown and white, In one vast blaze of glory fill My happy sight. The rich-robed trees, the ripening corn, Bright coloured with September fire— Fulfilment of the farmer’s hope, And year’s desire. Sweet in the air are joyous sounds Of bird and bee and running brook; And plenteous fruits hang ripening round, Where’er I look. The mellow splendour softly falls On morning mists and evening dews, And colours trees and flowers and clouds With thousand hues. O dreaming clouds, with silver fringed! I watch ye gathering side by side, Like armies, in the solemn skies, In stately pride. I love the woods, the changing woods, Fast deepening down to russet glow, When Autumn, like a brunette Queen, Rules all below. The soul of Beauty haunts the heavens, Nor leaves for long the warm-faced Earth, And like a mother, the kind air To life gives birth. But Death rides past upon the gale, And blows the rustling golden leaves; They whirl and fall, and rot and die, And my heart grieves. Farewell! O Autumn days—farewell! Ye go; but we shall meet again, As old friends, who are parted long By the wild main. William Cowan.