Autumn Eve

---

Oh! Autumn Eve! how pale and still

Thou liest on yon western hill! 

The sunset hues have changed to gray,

And all day's glories flown away -

Yet dearer far, when sunset dyes,

To me, the hour when twilight hies*

With shadowy form of dusky hue,

To mingle with the sky's deep blue.

Oh! Autumn Eve! so wan and meek,

Like gentle maid, with pallid cheek,

I love thy ray, though faint and pale

Thou lingerest over hill and dale;

Thou bringest back the days gone by

When light of heart, with undimmed eye

And pulses bounding wild and free,

I roved* beside the billowing sea

To watch the sunset fade away

And note the twilight's fading ray

Come softly stealing o'er the main*,

As listening to its deep refrain.

Those days so bright on memories track

On Autumn Eve's, come gliding back.

For this I love thy pensive ray

Far more than all the gaudy day.

Sweet Autumn Eve! thou art fading now

Night's starry crown is on her brow,

Thy cold sad form has vanished quite,

As merged into the sparkling night;

But when tomorrow's sun is set

This quiet time I'll not forget,

But friends and social mirth I'll leave

To gaze upon the Autumn Eve.

By Nannie Grey

Emerald Hill

near Danville, Virginia

1864

* See glossary

Picture:  https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/11/16/20/28/rhon-1046309__340.jpg

Oh, how genial is the sunshine

     When it shimmers through the trees,

Where the rosy, rocking blossoms

     Revel in the passing breeze,

When the summer buds are bursting

     Blushing into beauteous bloom,

Then the sunlight comes all radiant,

     Melting every mist of gloom.

See, like showers of glittering gold-dust

     How it gilds each dewy spray,

As like Cleopatra’s diamonds

     Every sparklet fades away.

And the feathery, fragile weblets,

    Which the industrious spider weaves,

How the glistening sunbeams binders

     Put them up in golden sheaves.

Every babbling, brawling brooklet

     Sings with joy, to see the light,

As “King Sol,” led by Aurora,”

    Shows his face, all blushing bright;

Then the birds with songs of triumph,

     Shake the dewdrops from their wings,

While all animated nature

     At his joyful entrance sings.

Ah, the sunlight, glorious sunlight,

     Like a spark from heaven’s high throne,

What can make us glad and joyous,

     What but radiance, like thine own?

What were this dim earth without thee!

     Shorn of thine illuming light?

What, but dreary, dismal darkness,

     What, but everlasting night?

Thus the soul, without God’s presence,

     Like the world, without a ray – 

Lone and friendless, weak and weary,

     Droops with sorrow, day by day,

And we bless thee, Lord of glories,

     For the Son of life and light,

Who on wings of love and mercy,

     Stooped, to dissipate our night.

By E. D. Hundley

Picture:  https://www.pexels.com/photo/green-field-and-brown-and-white-house-during-sunrise-677845/

Pale Autumn, with her dropping leaves,

Is smiling sad, o'er hill and plain;

Her chariot is the mournful wind,

Her music is the pattering rain.

Fair summer, all exhausted lies,

Her burial mound, the withered leaves,

And earth's cold bosom sadly takes

Her brightest child, for whom she grieves.

But you may travel o'er the world,

To seek for many a glorious sight,

And fair Italia's skies may beam

Upon you with their joyous light,

And many a "sun"sunnier clime" may glow,

And bathe you in a golden stream,

Where lights and shadows softly blend,

To wrap you in a mystic dream;

But come to our primeval* woods,

Where king "Sol" sheds his parting light,

And artist-autumn paints the trees

In every hue and color bright,

Where gold and crimson, brown and green,

Mix up and mingle in the woods,

And Nature, in her gorgeous sheen,

Sits, queen-like, in the solitudes.

And tell me, if you've ever seen,

In fairer lands beyond the sea,

A sight more rich and grand than this,

Where Autumn holds her revelry;

Or ever heard a sweeter tone

Than her low breath amid the pines,

Where glittering the raindrops fall

in diamond showers upon the vines.

Old Winter, with his icy breath,

And snowy crown upon his head,

And dark green firs, with frosty gems,

And holly berries, bright and red,

And tinkling sleighs and joyous shouts,

Is oft a merry time to me,

When Christmas-logs pile high the hearth,

And all is joy and revelry.

And Spring-time, with her fragrant breath,

And April rains and bright May flowers,

And tuneful birds, sweet Nature's choir,

That carol in the leafy bowers;

And Summer, radiantly arrayed,

With blooming flowers, of every hue,

And golden showerlets, on the streams,

Dropping from heaven's unbounded blue,

Are beautiful; but none to me,

Comes with so soft and sweet a spell,

As when, amidst the forest trees,

The plaintive blasts of Autumn swell,

For there I roam amid the wilds,

To watch the dying of the year,

And o'er her bier* of withered leaves,

I bend to shed a pitying tear.

By E. D. Hundley

Greensboro, North Carolina

* See Glossary

Written for the "Virginia Index."   The newspaper's roots trace to 1865.  

Picture: 

 https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/20000/

velka/autumn-trees-in-a-park-1302541611ufY.jpg

Low in the west, the pure pale moon is shining,

      While far above, the ether seems to sleep,

And all around, the soft-eyed stars, reclining -

      Above a sin-stained world, to watch and weep,

A stillness reigns, save where the murmuring river

      Pours forth its limpid waters to the sea,

Or, where stirred by the breeze, the light leaves shiver,

      All, all is silence - and I now breathe free.

Free, for no longer on my wearied spirit,

      Comes the fierce glare of sun-rays piercing through,

And the thick dust which trodden streets inherit

      For all is calm as Heaven's ethereal blue.

The "tea-rose" on her stately stalk low bending,

      Sighs for the silvery tears of Night's sweet eyes,

And the "Dew Angel" from his heights descending,

      Pours down the liquid treasure from the skies.

Oh! tranquil Night! what were the world without thee!

      Sweet and calm thoughts thou bringest in thy train;

So fair the pearly clouds which lie about thee,

      So bright the stars that gem thine azure plain;

That we might think those beauteous fields were laden

      With the soft breathings of the angelic choir,

As on light wings, from their far distant Aiden,

      They drew more near, to strike the "living lyre." 

And now, behind yon distant, dark browed mountain,

      Low sinks the moon, as dreaming, to her rest,

Her last ray lingering on the sparkling fountain,

      As on the object which it loved the best.

Ah! could I thus, when life's last hour is waning;

      Rest on that bosom, now most dear to me,

I, like that moon, might sink without complaining,

      Sink calmly in Eternity's dim sea.

By Nannie Grey

July 20, 1868

Richmond, Virginia  

Written for the Morning News.