A Forest Scene

Within a wood extending wide
By Thames's steeply winding side,
There sat upon a fallen tree,
Grown green through ages silently,
An Indian girl. The gradual change
Making all things most sweetly strange,
Had come again. The autumn sun,
Half up his morning journey, shone
With conscious lustre, calm and still;
By dell, and plain, and sloping hill
Stood mute the faded trees, in grief,
As various as their clouded leaf.
With all the hues of sunset skies
Were stamp'd the maple's mourning dyes;
In meeker sorrow in the vale
The gentle ash was drooping pale
Brown-seared the walnut raised its head
The oak displayed a lifeless red;
And grouping bass and white-wood hoar
Sadly their yellow honors bore;
And silvered birch and poplar rose
With foliage gray and weeping boughs;
But elm and stubborn beach retained
Some verdant lines, though crossed and stained,
And by the river's side were seen
Hazel and willow, palely green,
While in the woods, by bank and stream
And hollows shut from daylight gleam,
Where tall trees wept their freshening dews,
Each shrub preserved its summer hues.
Nor this alone. From branch and trunk
The withered wild-vines coldly shrunk,
The woodland fruits hung ripe or dry,
The leaf-strewn brook flowed voiceless by;
And all throughout, nor dim nor bright,
There lived a rare and wondrous light,
Wherein the colored leaves around
Fell noiselessly; nor any sound,
Save chattering squirrels on the trees,
Or dropping nuts, when stirred the breeze,
Might there be heard; and, floating high,
Were light clouds borne alone the sky,
And, scarcely seen, in heaven's deep blue
One solitary eagle flew.