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AUTUMN.
57
Not so proud a one ever gazed on the sun
As the eagle bird, I trow,
Stooping to rest on the towering crest
Of the highest mountain's brow.
In the pride of a king, with folded wing,
I gaze on ruined Tyre;
By Heaven's decree it was given to me,
And no power to give is higher.
From land or sea God hath chosen me,
And a favored bird am I—
The gifted of Heaven, to whom power is given
Over earth, and sea, and sky.
I care not for earth, though I had my birth
On the proudest height she owns;
And I'd rather ride o'er old ocean's tide
Than sit on her rocky thrones.
But I love the sun, and could I have won
A home in its realms of light,
With a laugh of scorn from this earth I'd turn,
And soar to my home in delight.
AUTUMN.
Autumn breezes now are blowing,
Groves with rainbow colors glowing,
Flowers dim and faded growing,
Fading with the year!
Louder sounds the rushing river,
More the forest leaves do quiver,
Through the boughs the wild winds shiver,
With a voice of fear.
Groves with rainbow colors glowing,
Flowers dim and faded growing,
Fading with the year!
Louder sounds the rushing river,
More the forest leaves do quiver,
Through the boughs the wild winds shiver,
With a voice of fear.
