FOR THE ENQUIRER. .

AUTUMN.

BY H, WARD
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 THE Summers light has gone; and all the glow Of rich luxuriance from the fertile vales,

 And waving meads, and sunny slopes of hills, No more delights the senses. All Is gloom. The reaper's merry song has died away; The harvest hath been garner ds and the grass, Cut down beneath the mowers sweeping scythe, Is stowd away in barns for future use.

 The very birds, by Natures instinct taught, Now flock together fof their Southern flight, Save here and there, a lonely whip-poor- twill, His wild dirge singing to the midnight moon; Or plaintive robin in the walnut grove,

 His r1ournful music pouring to the winds; ;, Or yellow hammer from some hollow tree, Of sounding with his sharp and restless bill Or woodcock. with his scarlet-tnfted head, Now briskly following suit, the liye-long day; Or swallow, skimming o'er the glassy lake, In graceful curves or twittering in the top, Of some wide, antiguated chimney. Fled, The whizZing humming- bird of iris wing, No more to wanton mid the Summer flowers. The ripen'd mast, now falling from the trees, Attracts the squirrel from his deer pretreat Beneath the leaf-made soil of shaken woods: And now he darts, with nimble feet, along Each quivering branchsof yon old chesnut tree, His eyes swift glancing round on either side, As if he felt alarm in every leaf

 That rustles on the bough yet sportive still, Ev'n while he searches for his winter store. Soon will the leaves all fade. Their many hues Of russet, crimson, yellow, and pale green, Will soon give tokens of their swift decay And thus 1t is with mortals; yet, with some, Their leaves shall never gwither, but be green, Like wonder gently whispering pines that crown The spreading plain, and breathe healthful balm On all the gales that OCT their branches blow. o Autumn thou art sad and wild the tones That give < lancholy sound abroad, Der dying nre's requiem yet thou still Art welcomes Nor the sober thoughts thou giv'st. Thou art the SeaS&h when the chasten'd mind Findsroom for deep reflection and thy smile, Though staid and grave, is kind and full of joy. Thou, with liberal hand, dost pour around Redundant stores, the fruit of honest toll. , Ton fields are rustling with the standing corn, Whose silken tassels now all wither'd, droop, And leave the husk-clad ear of golden hue, All plump and beautiful upon the stalk. The orchards yield their rpen'd fruits; the fields Upturn'd beneath the hoe, pour forth their roots, In glad profuson, for the Winters stock. The flowers, reluctant to resign their bloom, Still finger gaily by the garden wall,

 Aud seem more beautiful, because their stay Is short and .Aeeting meath the Autumn sun. What though, at times, aongthe azure sky. The sounding Tempest shakes hls raven wings, With clouds, and storms, and darkness in his path Again the sun mellow light will shed.

 And shade and light together sweetly blend. Cop of the Autumn and each Season's change, To Thee be praise, and gratitude, and love, For all the bounties of Thy liberal hand.

 How endless are Thy gifts Alas that men Should ever share them and forget the source Whence they forever spring o for heart .- To swell with unfeign'd gratitude to Thee,

 Who wisely hast ordan'd all things for good, In infinite profusion various all,

 In their bright changes, as the Seasons change! So may our change be orderh by Thy hand, From evil unto good, from Earth to Heaven.