...themselves away in rain,— the streams That flow along in dying music, — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of Winter, there to mingle with dead flowers, Are all prophetic of our own decay." R. MONTGOMERY. There are few attractions for the naturalist this month ; still, if the weather is not...

...away in rain, — the streams 'That flow along in dying music, — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of Winter, there to mingle with dead...thought? Yet, feelings, colour'd by the cloud of death, . t! With sweet oppression oft o'erflow the mind, As when, with pauseful step we pace some aisle, And...

...themselves away in rain, — the streams That flow along in dying music, — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of Winter, there to mingle with dead...penn'd it, and the head that thought ? Yet, feelings, colour' d by the cloud of death, With sweet oppression oft o'erflow the mind, As when, with pauseful...

...themselves away in rain, — the streams That flow along in dying music, — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms 'Of Winter, there to mingle with dead...Where genius flashes from each living line, Hath never wandered to the tomb to see The band that penned it, and the head that thought ? Yet feelings, coloured...

...merciful, just, and omnipotent. That flow along in dying music,—-leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of winter, there to mingle with dead flowers, Are all prophetic of our own decay. Robert Montgomery. There are few attractions for the Naturalist this month: still, if the weather is...

...themselves away in rain — the streams That flow along in dying music — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of Winter, there to mingle with dead flowers — Are all prophetic of our own decay." The vegetable creation, having gone through the operations of springing, flowering, and feeding, have...

...themselves away in rain,- — the streams That flow along a dying music, — leaves That fade, and drop into the frosty arms Of winter, there to mingle with dead flowers, — Are all prophetic of our own decay, ROBEBT MONTGOMEBY. 733. Who knows on whom the summons Of death this year may wait ! "Without a moment's...

...marred not his slumbers — he was dead ! LEAVES. * * * Leaves, That fade and drop into the frozen arms Of winter, there to mingle with dead flowers, Are all prophetic of our own decay. THE SEA SHELL. S5. Jkrtnn. HAST thou heard of a shell on the margin of ocean, Whose pearly recesses...

...All that we love and feel in Nature's face, Bear dim relations to our common doom. The clouds which blush and die an airy death, Or rain in weeping ruin...dead flowers, Are all prophetic of our own decay." The older men grow, and the nearer they are to leaving the world, the more in general do their hearts...