SMILING AUTUMN.
| Autumn, how should that languid air That smoothed thy brow erewhile, Be (though a frown thou dost not wear) Mistaken for a smile? The glow that dyes thy tawny cheek, The gleam that lights thine eye, Nor smiling grace, nor joy bespeak— Thy every breath's a sigh. Or if, perchance, a transient smile Breaks o'er the fading scene, To cheer thy plaintive brow the while And wake its sad serene; 'Tis like the sickly smile that sits On hidden sorrow's brow, Or with the last faint hectic flits When life is ebbing low. From such heart-chilling smiles as these Winter, I turn to thee— Thy frowning skies and leafless trees More welcome are to me. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
STUDY OF THE LATIN AND GREEK CLASSICS.
Of all the "death-bed sayings" on record, none please me more than that of Beausobre to his son: Go, said he,
| "Argentum et marmor vetus, æraque et artis Suspice. Suspice, et forma non fragilis Movebit in pectore delectationis multum. Ibi, cum Euroauster, tum erit admiratio— Flori felicitatis suavis et jucunda." |
Moving among the solid temples of "silver," and of "marble," reared by ancient literature, the intruder finds the holy beauty around him giving softness to his step, and banishing all ungentle levity. The plastic mind gradually yielding to the touch of that loveliness which has crept in through the senses, becomes of itself grand and lovely. The heart too receives its coloring—even as the cheek is colored, when standing beneath the stained windows of some real temple.
These truths have come home to me, at too late an hour, and a quill or two will not be worn out sinfully, in an attempt to impress their importance upon younger men.