Mrs. Elizabeth F. Swift

COME out upon the dewy hills, sweet friend,

And let us study Nature’s changeful face.

Look how the sun’s last rays harmonious blend,

Folding the woodlands in a warm embrace;

Each glowing leaf, stirred by the evening breeze,

Gleams with prismatic hues; crimson and gold,

Purple and azure seem the waving trees;

The mists their silvery vapors have unrolled,

And hover o’er the river’s troubled breast,—

River, that ’midst such deep and calm repose

Forever murmurs with a sad unrest,

Like human hearts o’erburdened with life’s woes.

But see—bright messenger of Heaven, queen of the summer skies,

Filling the earth with loveliness—the Harvest-Moon arise.