And she has prayed, if it might be Within the reach of human skill, And not averse to Heaven, that she Might live a little longer still. But earthly hope is gone; and now Comes in its place a brighter beam, Leaving upon her snowy brow The impress of a heavenly dream: That she, when her frail body yields, And fades away to mortal eyes, Shall burst through Heaven's eternal fields, And bloom again--in Paradise. AUTUMN DAYS. Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward-flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden, Autumn days! Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Woefully and hoarsely calling; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling. Sad and mournful are thy ways, Grieving, wailing, Autumn days! DEATH-DOOMED. They're taking me to the gallows, mother--they mean to hang me high; They're going to gather round me there, and watch me till I die; All earthly joy has vanished now, and gone each mortal hope,-- They'll draw a cap across my eyes, and round my neck a rope; The crazy mob will shout and groan--the priest will read a prayer, The drop will fall beneath my feet and leave me in the air. They think I murdered Allen Bayne; for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead! The grass that grows in yonder meadow, the lambs that skip and play, The pebbled brook behind the orchard, that laughs upon its way, The flowers that bloom in the dear old garden, the birds that sing and fly, Are clear and pure of human blood, and, mother, so am I! By father's grave on yonder hill--his name without a stain-- I ne'er had malice in my heart, or murdered Allen Bayne! But twelve good men have found me guilty, for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead! The air is fresh and bracing, mother; the sun shines bright and high; It is a pleasant day to live--a gloomy one to die! It is a bright and glorious day the joys of earth to grasp-- It is a sad and wretched one to strangle, choke, and gasp! But let them damp my lofty spirit, or cow me if they can! They send me like a rogue to death--I'll meet it like a man; For I never murdered Allen Bayne! but so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!