To the EDITOR of the POLYANTHOS.
SIR,
I OFFER you the following Poem with diffidence. As to subject it has neither beginning, middle, nor end, and its verse is rough, unpolished and unmusical ; but should its sentiments or descriptions meet your approbation, and in any degree counterbalance those defects, you will greatly favour me by inserting it in the Polyanthos. Yours, &c.
NOVEMBER RAMBLE.
O rus quando te aspiciam ? quandoque licebit,
Nunc veterum libris, nune somno & inertibus horis
Ducere solicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ ?
How much I love, while dark November clouds
Obscure the firmament, alone to rove-
(Escap'd from city smoke and city cares)
Amid your much lov'd walks, ye leafless woods!"
Now whilst the low'ring clouds withhold their stores,
Save frequently the pattering drops I hear
Upon the withered leaves, which strew the ground,
Or see them twinkling on the mossy spray.
How dreary every thing around; where late
With keenest view, I could not penetrate
A foot, to seek the flower of fairest hue,
With which to decorate the auburn hair,
Or swan like bosom of the nymph I love,
So thick the foilage was ;-the eye carr now
See to its utmost ken, save where oppos'd
By hoary rock, or boughs thick interwin'd.
Nought's left to tell of rosy spring or summer,
But a few sear'd yellow leaves, which still
Hang to the bough, or spots of verdant
moss,
With which the fair would choose to ornament
Her storm hous'd shrubbery, her sweet employ.
See you huge oak, how sorrowful he stands !
Has winter's chilling blast 'reft thee of beauty,
Or mournest thou for him thy brother,'
Fall'n at thy foot, by the keen biting ax?
Ye were of equal size, together lang
Have buffetted the storms, which fierce in vain
Assail'd your iron limbs, while they have torn,
Like vice attacking young unrooted virtue,
Your haughtier, prouder brethren of the shade.
-So falls the monarch, when the storm of war
Pours o'er the land, and tears him from the throne,
While those, who leagu'd with him in freedom's
Stand by appall'd, and view the mighty ruin !
Whilst fear, more potent than the northern frost,
Enchains their limbs, and freezes every heart.
O Freedom! when wilt thou awake in might,
And call the warlike children of the north
To deeds, would honour their great ancestors.
When wilt thou raise thy mighty voice, and rouse
The spirits of old Frederick, Adolphus, Charles?
Ilave honied words of flattery entranc'd thee,
Or wast thou prisoner made at Austerlitz,
And carried captive at the conqueror's heels?
But turn, and see this vine, twisting his boughs
Around the sturdy elm; what is that like?
As black, and crooked as his soul, and deeds,
Who round the heart of a free people twines,
And promises to cherish, ornament,
What time he fondly hopes his creeping shoots,
Will top their highest bough; his foilage thick,
Keep off the fostering rays of liberty ;-
And thus, as Hercules Antœus did,
To strangle freedom in his arms.
How pensive is the note of yon poor robin,
Who sits upon the bough as if forlorn!
Anon, he lightly hops upon the ground,
Searching for food amid the withered leaves,
Which sweet spring sow'd for him, as grateful
For his sweet song melodious; good bird,
Thou dost not leave these groves while winter fell
Pours out adversity upon them.-
They will reward thee, and when youthful spring,
Clothes them anew, commanding playful zephyr
Kissing, to ope their tender gems and flowers,
They'll give thee for thy simple nest, a seat
The fairest, most secure amid the
grove.
I was not bred in learn'd Linnæus' school,
Or I could tell your names, ye winged little ones,
Who dwell with winter too, but well I know,
And bless your artless song, though it be short
For to my listening ear 'tis sweeter far,
Than all the long drawn trills of vocal art.
But lo! that silver footed Naiad, bent.
All melancholy o'er her crystal urn;
Her swollen tide mingled with yellow leaves;
The icicle her sceptre; and her brows
Circled with crown of melancholy sedge!
-Once, in the golden reign of rosy spring,
The velvet moss, green bush, and lovelier flower,
Were hers to boast; which by their beauty
Pay'd her sweet tribute for their nourishing.
And I remember, for Ilov'd to view
Her limpid waters glide beneath my feet,
When rushing o'er the rocks which choak'd her channel;
And sweetly wimpling through the meadow ground,
Widening, she form'd a glassy mirror smooth,
Heavenward reflecting the sweet form of things,
Which thence deriv'd their origin.
But now alas her wave rolls murmuring,
As if complaining of dread winter's reign.-
And joining with the river's monarch wave,
Is slowly borne unnoticed to the sea.
Like to the virtuous man, who marching down
The rugged path of life, saw flowers of joy,
Of plenty, of content, and gratitude-
Arise where'er he came, 'till closing calm
A life of goodliness, is smoothly borne
To the unknown ocean of eternity,
Bless'd by his fellow men; his country, and his God
-And such the high renown, O Knox, which praise
Shall waft thy name from all her altars.
For thou like some good spirit, cas'd in flesh
To do kind deeds to mortals, wide diffus'd
A flood of blessings o'er the barren waste,
And made it blossom like the rose; while every eye,
Now wet with tears of anguish and despair,
Pour'd o'er thy timeless urn, beam'd gratitude,
And bless'd their God, that such a man was made
For them, for theirs, and for his Country.-
And long as liberty shall bless our shores,
And plenty pour her horn, so long, O Knox,
Shall thy name live, for thy good deeds have rais'd
A monument* more durable than brass,
-A nation planted by thy hand!
But death is ever at our side,-who so wise
To 'scape the blow aim'd by his fatal hand?
And meditation says, as fall these leaves,
So pass the flitting moments of man's life;
And soon, full soon will they depart, and death
His winter soon o'ertake him, leaving
Nought but a leafless, withered, worthless trunk.
-But hast thou mortal borne such goodly fruit
As thy fair spring did promise, has not vice
Nipt them ere fully ripe ?—Tis well for thee,
If such be not thy lot,- -well hereafter !
Exegi monumentum ære perennius,
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