AUTUMN. 55 white and thin ; The reaper's sheaf hath now grown And from the fields the seedy hay is borne. The orchards all have showered their treasures down, Still are these barren-hills! save when the tree Falls 'neath the far-off woodman's measured stroke; Or when the squirrel chatters noisily, Or carrion crow screams from the leafless oak. Methinks there's something sad in thy decay, Poet! doth no regret o'ercast thy dream, Even as I follow to his lowly bed, The ashes of some kind, and well-beloved friend, So with a saddened eye and mournful tread, I see thee, Autumn! to oblivion tend. Yet beautiful are thy last fleeting days, In many a colored fold, of gaudy streak. I hear the voice of Autumn! the deep dirge PAUL AT ATHENS. BY THE EDITOR. THE day stole over Athens.-From his rest Went forth a stranger through the silent streets, To catch the breathings of the lifting morn As it came up in glory and enwrapped In mantlings of rich light, the old renownedThe city of Minerva !-The unclouded sky Hung, like the canopy of the third heavens, O'er the glad hills of Attica,-the wind Stirred lightly sea-ward, as he mounted on To reach the old Acropolis, -and the breath From far Hymettus and the thyme-grown hills, Came to his sense deliciously.-He stood At length, amid the Parthenon, that reared Its yet unbroken columns awfully Around-and gazed in wonder ! Far abroad, The old gaan with its cradled isles To a slight ruffle, by the morning breeze, And glittering domes beneath him, and the Bay And who had read of old Philosophy, And caught the fire from Homer's burning page Might not have felt emotion's deepest thrill Stir in his bosom then! And such his soul Who stood within the Athenian citadel. Yet came that pageant to his heedless eye PAUL AT ATHENS. 59 The pomp and splendor of a God-less world! And as he urged His faltering way amid the tumult crowds, Within him, that the city thus were wrapped 'Twas high noon. The Apostle had gone forth with holy zeal, In the cool porticoes and olive groves, |