THE SUNSET OF THE YEAR.

(OCTOBER.)

Sweet Summer's scowling foe impatient stands On the horizon near of Nature's view. At the sad sight the sweetly-coloured lands Filled with the glowing woodlands' dying hue, For Winter's darkening reign prepare the way. In the green garden the tall Autumn flowers, Filling with fragrant breath the beauteous bowers, With resignation wait their dying day; Bending their heads submissive to the will Of Him, at whose command the sun stands still, Nor dares to send to earth his gladd'ning ray. Filled with the feeling of the coming doom Of Nature's beauteous deeds, the heavenly hill Hides its sad, shuddering face in cloudy gloom. A whispering silence overhangs the scene, As if awaiting the dark Winter storm That fills with fear Hope's slowly-withering form. Sinking to wintry death—till, pure and green, Spring shall descend in song from sunny skies, Smiling her into life. The sad wind sighs Through flowerless woods, glowing towards their death, In Winter's cruel, poison-breathing breath. Fierce grows the murmur of the woodland rill, Foaming in fury thro' the pensive trees, Down the steep glen of the mist-mantled hill; Deeper the roar of death-presageful seas; While in the changeful woods the rivers seem Wandering for ever in a Winter dream!

DAVID R. WILLIAMSON.

Maidenkirk, 1875.