Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to sooth.
GRAY
On the following morning, Emily left Tholouse at an early hour, and
reached La Vallee about sun-set. With the melancholy she experienced on
the review of a place which had been the residence of her parents, and
the scene of her earliest delight, was mingled, after the first shock
had subsided, a tender and undescribable pleasure. For time had so far
blunted the acuteness of her grief, that she now courted every scene,
that awakened the memory of her friends; in every room, where she had
been accustomed to see them, they almost seemed to live again; and
she felt that La Vallee was still her happiest home. One of the first
apartments she visited, was that, which had been her father's
library, and here she seated herself in his arm-chair, and she
contemplated, with tempered resignation, the picture of past times.
Soon after her arrival, she was surprised by a visit from the venerable
M. Barreaux, who came impatiently to welcome the daughter of his late
respected neighbour, to her long-deserted home. Emily was comforted by
the presence of an old friend, and they passed an interesting hour in
conversing of former times, and in relating some of the circumstances,
that had occurred to each, since they parted.
The evening was so far advanced, when M. Barreaux left Emily, that she
could not visit the garden that night; but, on the following morning,
she traced its long-regretted scenes with fond impatience; and, as she
walked beneath the groves, which her father had planted, and where
she had so often sauntered in affectionate conversation with him, his
countenance, his smile, even the accents of his voice, returned
with exactness to her fancy, and her heart melted to the tender
recollections. This, too, was his favourite season of the year, at which they had often
together admired the rich and variegated tints of these woods and the
magical effect of autumnal lights upon the mountains; and now, the view
of these circumstances made memory eloquent. As she wandered pensively
on, she fancied the following address
TO AUTUMN
Sweet Autumn! how thy melancholy grace
Steals on my heart, as through these shades I wind!
Sooth'd by thy breathing sigh, I fondly trace
Each lonely image of the pensive mind!
Lov'd scenes, lov'd friends--long lost! around me rise,
And wake the melting thought, the tender tear!
That tear, that thought, which more than mirth I prize--
Sweet as the gradual tint, that paints thy year!
Thy farewel smile, with fond regret, I view,
Thy beaming lights, soft gliding o'er the woods;
Thy distant landscape, touch'd with yellow hue
While falls the lengthen'd gleam; thy winding floods,
Now veil'd in shade, save where the skiff's white sails
Swell to the breeze, and catch thy streaming ray.
But now, e'en now!--the partial vision fails,
And the wave smiles, as sweeps the cloud away!
Emblem of life!--Thus checquer'd is its plan,
Thus joy succeeds to grief--thus smiles the varied man!