St Nicholas [serial] . is a farmore cheerful seasonthan that of mostother countries. Thebrilliant colors of theforest-trees, and thedays of bright sun-shine and soft air,that sometimes lin-ger far into Novem-ber, are a wonderto foreigners. Manypersons find it hardto decide whetherJune or October isour most delightfulmonth. Longfellow sings, With what a glory comesand goes the year ! and he writes of The solemn woods of ashdeep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and mapleyellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faintold man, sits down By the way-side a-weary. And again, in thatsweetest of idyls— Evangelin
St Nicholas [serial] . is a farmore cheerful seasonthan that of mostother countries. Thebrilliant colors of theforest-trees, and thedays of bright sun-shine and soft air,that sometimes lin-ger far into Novem-ber, are a wonderto foreigners. Manypersons find it hardto decide whetherJune or October isour most delightfulmonth. Longfellow sings, With what a glory comesand goes the year ! and he writes of The solemn woods of ashdeep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and mapleyellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faintold man, sits down By the way-side a-weary. And again, in thatsweetest of idyls— Evangeline : 1 Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautifulseasonCalled by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of was the air with a dreamy and magical light, and the landscapeLay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. And, again, he addresses autumn as coming With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,Brighter than brightest silks o( Samarcand ! ?gS AUTUMN POETRY [October,. Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,Upon thy bridge of gold ; thy royal handOutstretched with benedictions oer the land! Lowells Indian Summer Reverie is full ofsplendid description : The birch, most shy and lady-like of trees,Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves,And hints at her foregone gentilities With some saved relics of her wealth of leaves: The swamp-oak, with his royal purple on,Glares red as blood across the setting sun,As one who proudlier to a fallen fortune cleaves:He looks a sachem, in red blanket wrapt. The maple-swamps glow like a sunset sea,Each leaf a ripple with its separate flush. * The woodbine up the elms straight stem aspires,Coiling it, harmless, with autumnal fires. a ii877.] AUTUMN POETRY. 799 In modern English poets we get, now and then,a glimpse of glowing color. Tennyson writes of Autumn laying here and thereA fiery finger on the leaves; and tells us how one who watches may see The maple burn itself away. And Allingham must hav
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