11 OCTOBER 1873, Page 15



THE calm of Autumn broods upon the trees, And Earth like to a comely matron bears A face serene, untouched by wintry cares ; Soft as in April plays the Western breeze, Soothing the wanderer idly stretched at ease On the close-nibbled grass. All Nature wears The look of life, while death creeps unawares, Mocking the peace that rests on days like these. 0 alien Winter ! stay thy coming still, Dwell in thy kingdom 'mid the Arctic snow, Touch not this beauty with thy icy chill,— Still let me bask in this delicious glow, And hear the vagrant sheep-bell on the hill, And Ocean's alumb'rous murmur far below.