Part 1 — SONNETS: BY 'QUINCE.'

Imperial Autumn! Season's Monarch! throned In more than orient pomp and majesty— Earth's harvest king! with smiles and sunshine crowned, Full of perfection and maturity! Thou art the vaunted glory of the year; Scarlet and gold and emerald leaves are thine, Rocks, trees and forests thy rich mantles wear, And all earth's verdures in thy lustres shine: Yet, as the expiring lamp most brightly glows— Or as the hectic on Consumption's cheek— So to the year, thy beauty paints the close, Thy added lustre does grim death bespeak: But even in death thou own'st supremacy, And mayest example—not exampled—be.

In fruit most tempting, ashes hidden lie; In richest flowers lives not the sweetest breath; In berries are, most beauteous to the eye, Poisons impregnate, in whose taste is death; The sweetest song-bird's plumage is not gay, But birds which sing not are most fair to see, Yet from the beautiful we turn away, To list the song-bird's dulcet melody! So homely virtue sometimes lowly lies, By brazen vice's gaudy lustre seen; But vice discerned, in ermine we despise; And virtue known, we honor as a queen. From fruit, flower, bird, from all the inference is, We may mistake, full oft, appearances.

He comes with stealthy step and restless eye, Meagre and wan—a living skeleton— To where his god, his golden treasures lie, He comes to feast (his only meal) thereon: 'Rich! rich!' he cries—' I am as Crœsus rich!' Poor, poor he is!—not Lazarus more poor; Envy him not, thou houseless, wandering wretch, Who beg'st for charity from door to door; It is gaunt Avarice! If he could feed His famished body through his greedy eye, Or carry to the grave his gold—indeed! Envied on earth he'd live, and envied die; But he is like the wave which covers o'er Gems unenjoyed, it leaves, in ebbing from the shore.