PODS OJ' llf4TUU.There's a dance of leaves in thAt upen bower,
There'• & titter or winda in that beechen tree.
There's a smile on the froit
1
and a amite on the Bower,
And a !&ugh on t.he brook that run• to the Ilea.
And look at the broad-faced aun, bow be emile.
On the dewy earth, that emil~• in hla n.y,
On the leaping waters and gay youug i~le.";
.Ay, look, and he'll emile thy gloom away.
Bar .AliT.
~utunnr.To Summer-6owe11 hu run to aeeti
And yellow is the'woodland boug~;
.And every leaf of bush and weed
h tipt with Autumn's peneilno'W.
The 'Woodbine-trees red berries bear,
That clustering bang upon the bower j
While, fondly liugering here and there,
"Peepa out a dwindling, sickly ftower.
The trees' gRy leaves are turn6d bro'WII 1
By every little wind undi'eBB'd ;
.And u they flAp and whiatle down,
We aee the bird's deserted neat.
No thrush or blackbird meeta the eye,
O:r filla the ear with summer's atraic ;
They but dart out for worm and fiy,
Then silent aeek their reet again.
Beside the brook, in misty blue,
Bilber1·iea glow on tendrils wealc,
Where many a bare foot splashes through,
The pulpy, juicy prize to seek :
For 'tia the rustic boy'e delight,
Now Autumn's aun BO warmly gleams,
And theae ripe be1·riea tempt hie eight,
To dabble in the shallow etream.e.
And oft hie rambles we may trace,
Delved in the mud his priutiug feet,
Aud oft we meet a ~hubby face
All stainM with the berriea aweet.