An Autumnal Cloud

Oh! would I were throned on yon glossy golden cloud,
Soaring to heaven with the eagle so proud,
Floating o'er the sky
Like a spirit, to descry
Each bright realm,--and, when I die,
May it be my shroud!

I would skim afar o'er ocean, and drink of bliss my fill,
O'er the thunders of Ni'gara and cataracts of Nile,--
With rising rainbows wreathed,
In mist and darkness sheathed,
Where nought but spirits breathed
Around me the while.

Above the mighty Alps (o'er the tempest's angry god
Careering on the avalanche) should be my bless'd abode.
There, where Nature lowers more wild
Than her most uncultured child,
Revels beauty--as one smiled
O'er life's darkest mood.

Our aerial flight should be where eye hath never been,
O'er the stormy Polar deep, where the icy Alps are seen,
Where Death sits, crested high,
As he would invade the sky,
Whilst the living valleys lie
In their beautiful green!

Spirit of the peaceful autumnal eve!
Child of enchantment! behind thee leave
Thy semblance mantled o'er me;
Too full thy tide of glory
For Fancy to restore thee,
Or Memory give!