Unheard in summer's flaring ray, Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,

Wooing the stillness of the autumn day; Bid it a moment linger, Nor fly

Too soon from winter's scowling eye.

The blackbird's song at eventide And hers who gay ascends,

Telling the heavens far and wide, Are sweet. But none so blends As thine

With calm decay and peace divine.

The following four verses are, I think, very pretty, and not likely to be generally known (I do not know who wrote them); and how we do, all of us, 'love the sweet fall of the year'!-far the most beautiful of all the seasons in England:I wondered this year-for the autumn was in, The acacias were dark and the linden leaves thin, And the south wind in coming and going was loud, And odorous and moist, like the breath of a cloudI wondered and said,'Then the autumn is here. God knows how I love the sweet fall of the year; But the feeling of autumn is not in my brain; My God, give me joy in Thine autumn again.'

I woke in the morning, and out in the air

I heard the sweet robin his ditty declare,

And my passion of autumn came down from the skies,

And I leapt from my bed with the tears in my eyes.

Ah! robin, sweet robin, dost thou know the power That comes on the heart with the fall of the flower, The odour of winds, and the shredding of trees, And the deepening of colour in skies and on seas ?