Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them — The summer flowers depart —Sit still — as all transform'd to stone, Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time, May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around, You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees, Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings, When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile, When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile, When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, — Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear, That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth, Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods, The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods; Look out o'er vale and hill-In spring, the sky encircled them — The sky is round them still.
Come autumn's scathe — come winter's cold — Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound, Can ne'er be desolate.
