AUTUMN FLOWERS.

BY MISS AGNES STRICKLAND.

1.

FLOWERS of the closing year!
Ye bloom amidst decay;
And come like friends sincere,
When wintry storms appear,

And all have passed away

That clothed gay spring's luxuriant bowers, With garlands meet for sunny hours.

II.

When rose and lily fade,

And later amaranths fail, And leaves in grove and glade Assume a russet shade,

And shiver in the gale,

Or withering strew the chilly plain

With blighted hopes of summer's reign;

III.

'Tis then when sternly lours,
O'er nature's changing face,
Dark clouds and drifting showers,
Ye come, ye come, sweet flowers!
With meek and touching grace;
And o'er the parting season's wing,
A wreath of lingering beauty fling.

IV.

The hare-bell, bright and blue,
That loves the dingle wild,

In whose cerulean hue,

Heaven's own blest tint we view,

On days serene and mild;

How beauteous like an azure gem,

She droopeth from her graceful stem!

V.

The foxglove's purple bell,

On bank and upland plain;

The scarlet pimpernel,

And daisy in the dell,

That kindly blooms again, When all her sisters of the spring On earth's cold lap are withering;

VI.

The bine-weed pure and pale,

That sues to all for aid,
And when rude storms assail
Her snowy virgin veil,

Doth like some timid maid,

In conscious weakness most secure,
Unscathed its sternest shocks endure.

VII.

How fair her pendant wreath

O'er bush and brake is twining!

While meekly there beneath,
'Mid fern and blossomed heath,

Her lowlier sister's shining;

Tinged with the blended hues that streak A slumbering infant's tender cheek.

VIII.

And there Vimiria * weaves

Her light and feathery bowers,

Mid russet-shaded leaves,

Where robin sits and grieves

Your hasting death, sweet flowers! He sings your requiem all the day, And mourns because ye pass away.

A traveller's joy.

STANZAS.

I.

In early flowers of spring,

Thy youthful charms I see;

In summer birds, that sing,
Thy virgin glee:

As corn that waves in autumn's glow,

Thy tresses unconfined—

An emblem of thy mind,

In winter's snow!

II.

A fount of tenderness,

Pure, calm, and deep,

As thoughts, when mothers bless

An infant's sleep

Is of its overflow beguiled,

When thou, with fond caress,

Dost to thy bosom press

A playful child.

X

III.

In thee receive their birth,

Sweet smiles, and holy tears;

Youth's hour of graceful mirth,

And maiden fears;

With "answers soft," that "wrath " disarm,

And yet cannot repress
Thy spirit's earnestness—

A blended charm!

IV.

Of old, the Vestal flame

Undying lustre shed;

By maids of spotless fame

The light was fed :

And thus may guardian souls be given,

To watch the purer ray
That gilds my lonely way,
And points to heaven.

E. E. GAUNTLETT.