On autumn’s sallow cheek too soon to fade.
In ages past, when thou didst gently come,
“With nights of frost, and noons of sultry heat,
When skies were blue as highly tempered steel,
And rivers clear as crystal, and the mist
Upon the mountains hung its silver veil;
When o’er the grass a fairy net-work spread,
And naught was green except the mountain pine,
The willow, and the bullrush by the brook”—
Our fathers feared—for then amid the wilds,