MOUNT AUBURN.

BY D. RICKETSON.

HERE I will rest, upon this hillside fair,

And muse upon

the scenes within these grounds, Where towering oaks keep out the mid-day glare,

From whose broad tops come forth sweet mellow sounds, Like funeral chants o'er these sepulchral mounds.

I am alone, and I would wish it so ;

For with high interest the spot abounds,

And while my thoughts with solemn fervor glow,
I would a lesson learn, ere to the world I go.

It is the hush of Autumn's solemn tide;
Far in the west the Sun his course hath spent ;
Across the heavens the wild clouds swiftly ride,
While scarce a ray to light my path is lent:
'Tis true I come no lost friend to lament,
Yet I've a tear to give to those who mourn;
And even now my rising sighs are spent,

As towards yon grave with musing steps I turn,
Where virtue lies enshrined beneath the voiceless urn.

I love the spot, for bright in memory's page,
Comes up the day, when bidding books farewell,
With buoyant steps I came to hear the sage
Whose silver voice arose from yonder dell, *
While crowds sat breathless as his accents fell.

*Consecration Dell.

It was a lovely day, the morning sun
Walked in rich splendor up the ambient sky,
And when his western goal was nearly won,

Each haunt of this fair wood glowed with his brilliancy.

But ah, how changed! this lovely spot then seemed
Like opening paradise to my young heart;
And nature here in rich luxuriance teemed,
Where monuments now rise of vying art :
O! why should pride in this still spot have part!
Rather let nature in her wildness live,

And o'er all scenes her living hues impart,

From whence the soul heaven's blessing may derive,
And feel its lagging powers again in life revive.

The evening shades are fast assembling round,
And to his airy seat each songster hies,

While all is hushed throughout this hallowed ground,
Save where from yonder mart low sounds arise,

That lull the ear like gentle melodies.

And now I bid these scenes a sad farewell,

Where many a noble breast in quiet lies:

Ere I again shall come, ah! who can tell

How many a breathing form may seek its narrow cell.

THE MOUNTFORT TOMB.

THIS is a tomb in Willow Avenue, in which are deposited the remains of Col. John Mountfort and his parents, who were, in 1855, transferred from the ancient family tomb in Copps Hill Cemetery.