Tonight, of the Past I am thinking—
Of one of the Autumn’s bright days
When the beautiful hills of old Hartford
Were covered with October haze,—
When the leaves, all russet and golden
Came rustling down, and the breeze
Seemed bent upon mischief, dispelling
The radiant garb of the trees.
Where the Oak and the Elm stand, defying
The wrath of the tempest’s fierce blast—
Through the thicket, where warble the wild-birds
And the chipmunk goes scurrying past.—
To the brilliant-hued, picturesque landscape
No color could artist e’er lend
On this day, when o’er hill and thro’ valley
I wandered in search of a friend.
In search of a dear loved one, dwelling
In a quiet, suburban retreat—
The friend whose kind manner e’er charmed me—
Whom I long had been hoping to greet.
And I found her at last, my friend Emma!
As at last thro’ the garden I walk.
She was sitting quite close by the window—
And I found her there—mending a sock!
HUMOROUS
“Oh!” said the chick
To the white hen, “Run, quick!”
(They stood in the garden patch;)
“Here’s a woman coming
Who will send us ahumming—
She’s determined she’ll not let us scratch!”
“Now if ’twere a man
That yonder I scan”
And her eyes she opened wide,—
“And a rock he should throw
We’d know where ’twould go
And could easily dodge it one side,—
But this is a Woman—
A terror uncommon,
What to do I’m sure I can’t see;
If a missile she throws
It will veer, and, who knows?
May by accident hit you or me!”