POETRY .

From the Boston Pearl. .AUIUAEN.
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B Y A B FIR PIKE OCTOBER, brown October, with his slow And melancholy step, has left the hills, And comes upon the plain. The wild winds

 blow

 Through the thick leaves with cold and

 gusty thrills, Turning their greenness to the sere, red hdes Ofseber Autumn. Thro' the rustling dels, Meralded by the frost, that wildly strews The faded leaves along his way, goes on The sober month; and over the bright eye

 Of the despondng sun

 The cold clouds fold their vesture dun, Or oh the snowy hills, like couching eagles,

 lie. The crimson heart of every Summer flower Has waned away, and round the withered

 stalks The grey and faded leaves begin to shower Into rotting mass, and aimless focks Or winged seeds go floating through the air, Steered by the winds. Beneath the noise-

 less shocks Of the white frost, the whole night busy

 there,

 The nuts bestrew the ground, the fields

 have lost Their greenness, and are turned all dry and

 grey;

 And by the cold winds tossed, While the barred clouds go thick across, They seem to sadly mourn their wasting life

 away. How well the time accordeth with the soul! Autumn is on the heart, and these sere

 woods These winds that coldly through the valley These barred clouds-these withered so-

 litudes- Grey weeds and falling leaves-do all re-

 semble

 The lonely season on the soul that broods. The winds of sorrow OCT it's pale blights

 tremble;

 Its falling hopes and wthered passions

 give, Like those of Autumn, melancholy warning,

 And swiftly, wildly drive Through the sad heart, once all alive With the unsullied greenness of it's lifes

 young morning. And now, o earth! 1t makes its calm farewell; No peace or joy 1t hopeth now on earth. The crimson fountain once did gladly swell, But now 1t hardly throbs. The merry mirth Of boyhood's day has gone, and in it's stead Sit weariness, and loneliness, and dearth. The golden visions from the soul have fled, And each one leaves sombre shadow there Like dark pyramid within the soul;

 The cold and moaning air Sighs round its base in dark despair, And the wild voice of Death within the chasm

 rolls.

 