Rustic Ballads for October. WHITTIER'S "HUSKERS." Ir was late in mild October, And the long autumnal rain Leaving all the woodlands gay Or the meadow-flowers of May. Fell chastened and subdued On the corn-fields, and the orchards, The haze with yellow light; And beneath it pond and meadow And shouting boys in woodland haunts And laughed they knew not why; From spire and barn looked westerly No sound was in the woodlands, Save the squirrel's dropping shell, The summer grains were harvested; Where June-winds rolled in light and shade Bent low by Autumn's wind and rain, And, lo! as through the western pines, Set all afire beyond, Slow o'er the eastern sea-bluffs A milder glory shone, And the sunset and the moon-rise And thus into the quiet night The sunset lapsed away, Their milking and their home-tasks done, Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, On the pleasant scene below; And laughing eyes and busy hands, Half hidden in a quiet nook, The old men sat apart; At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, The happy children played. Urged by the good host's daughter, A maiden young and fair, And pride of soft brown hair, Sleek of hair and smooth of tongue, A husking-ballad sung. Heap high the farmer's wintry board! The orange from its glossy green, We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. When spring-time came with flower and bud, And grasses green and young, And merry bob'links, in the wood, We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, And frightened from our sprouting grain All through the long, bright days of June And waved in hot mid-summer's noon And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, Of golden showers of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board, Who will not thank the kindly earth, HOOD'S "SEASON." SUMMER'S gone and over! Fogs are falling down; And with russet tinges Autumn's doing brown. Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the Book of Nature Getteth short of leaves. Round the tops of houses, Swallows, as they flit, Give, like yearly tenants, Notices to quit. Skies, of fickle temper, Weep by turns and laugh— Night and Day together, Taking half-and-half. MISS ELLIOT'S "FLOWERS OF THE FOREST." A BALLAD OF FLODDEN FIELD. I'VE heard the lilting at our yowe-milking, Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day; But now they are moaning on ilka green loaningThe Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae; Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away. In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleechingThe Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming Dule and wae for the order, sent our lads to the The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost, The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay. Psalms and Hymns for October. QUARLES'S PSALM 42: 1. LONGING AFTER GOD. How shall my tongue express that hallowed fire, Which heaven hath kindled in my ravished heart! What muse shall I invoke, that will inspire My lowly quill to act a lofty part! To quicken and refresh her embryon grain; Rewish what late their wishes did obtain ; Before a pack of deep-mouthed lusts I flee; O, they have singled out my panting heart, And wanton Cupid, sitting in the tree, Hath pierced my bosom with a flaming dart; My soul being spent, for refuge seeks to Thee, But cannot find where Thou, my refuge, art: Like as the swift-foot hart doth wounded fly To the desired streams, e'en so do I Pant after Thee, my God, whom I must find, or die! YOUNG'S "IMMORTALITY.” Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, AUTUMN-NOVEMBER. studiis florens ignoblis oti. Virg. Georg., Lib. IV. RURAL RETIREMENT A COMMON CRAVING. HACKNEYED in business, wearied at that oar, And add a smile to what was sweet before, CONSCIENCE CALLS TO THE QUIET COUNTRY LIFE. Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, Though long rebelled against, not yet suppressed, Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, HABITS OF A LIFE BROKEN THROUGH WITH DIFFICULTY. "Tis well if, looked for at so late a day, In the last scene of such a senseless play, True wisdom will attend his feeble call, And grace his action ere the curtain fall. Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth, Their wishes all impregnated with earth, For three-score years employed with ceaseless care In catching smoke and feeding upon air, Conversant only with the ways of men, Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. WONDERS OF INSECT LIFE. To trace in Nature's most minute design His mighty work, who speaks, and it is done, GRANDEUR OF THE CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE. Then with a glance of fancy to survey, Far as the faculty can stretch away, Ten thousand rivers poured at his command From urns, that never fail, through every land; These like a deluge with impetuous force, Those winding modestly a silent course; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails; The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The crescent moon, the diadem of night; Stars countless, each in his appointed place, Fast anchored in the deep abyss of spaceAt such a sight to catch the poet's flame, And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are thy glorious works, thou Source of Good, How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought, Adored and praised in all that Thou hast wrought. Absorbed in that immensity I see, I shrink abased, and yet aspire to Thee; Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day THE HEAVENLY WISDOM IN LIVING. O blest proficiency! surpassing all On earth what is, seemed formed indeed for us : RETIREMENT MORE FRIENDLY THAN BUSINESS TO SPIRITUAL Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce, A superstitious and monastic course: Truth is not local, God alike pervades And fills the world of traffic and the shades, And may be feared amidst the busiest scenes, Or scorned where business never intervenes. But 't is not easy, with a mind like ours, Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, And in a world where, other ills apart, The roving eye misleads the careless heart, To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Wherever freakish fancy points the way; To bid the pleadings of self-love be still, Resign our own and seek our Maker's will; To spread the page of Scripture, and compare Our conduct with the laws engraven there; To measure all that passes in the breast, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test; To dive into the secret deeps within, To spare no passion and no favorite sin, And search the themes, important above all, Ourselves and our recovery from our fall. But leisure, silence, and a mind released From anxious thoughts how wealth may be inHow to secure, in some propitious hour, The point of interest, or the post of power, A soul serene, and equally retired From objects too much dreaded or desired, Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute, At least are friendly to the great pursuit. [creased, THE ISLAND OF LIFE ON THE OCEAN OF ETERNITY. — THE SAINTED DEAD. Opening the map of God's extensive plan, We find a little isle, this life of man; |