Come on thy swaying feet, Wild Spirit of the Fall! With wind-blown skirts, loose hair of russet brown Crowned with bright berries of the bitter sweet. Trip a light measure with the hurrying leaf, Straining thy few late roses to thy breast: With laughter overgay, sweet eyes drooped down, That none may guess thy grief: Dare not to pause for rest Lest the slow tears should gather to their fall. DANSKE DANDRIDGE October Second In all our associations; in all our agreements let us never lose sight of this fundamental maxim--that all power was originally lodged in, and consequently derived from, the people. We should wear it as a breastplate, and buckle it on as our armour. GEORGE MASON October Third What a brave splendour Is in the October air! How rich and clear-- How life-full, and all joyous! We must render Love to the Spring-time, with its sproutings tender, As to a child quite dear-- But autumn is a noon, prolonged, of glory-- A manhood not yet hoary. PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE October Fourth At morn--at noon--at twilight dim-- Maria! thou hast heard my hymn! In joy and woe--in good and ill-- Mother of God, be with me still! When the Hours flew brightly by, And not a cloud obscured the sky, My soul, lest it should truant be, Thy grace did guide to thine and thee! Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast Darkly my Present and my Past, Let my future radiant shine With sweet hopes of thee and thine! EDGAR ALLAN POE October Fifth Tormented sorely by the chastening rod, I muttered to myself: "There is no God!" But faithful friend, I found your soul so true, That God revealed Himself in giving you. WALTER MALONE October Sixth Who said "false as dreams"? Not one who saw Into the wild and wondrous world they sway; No thinker who hath read their mystic law; No Poet who hath weaved them in his lay. HENRY TIMROD _Henry Timrod dies, 1867_ _Nathaniel Bacon dies, 1676_ October Seventh And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. EDGAR ALLAN POE _Edgar Allan Poe dies, 1849_ _Battle of King's Mountain, N. C., 1780_ October Eighth EDGAR ALLAN POE It is no small achievement to have sung a few imperishable songs of bereaved love and illusive beauty. It is no small achievement to have produced individual and unexcelled strains of harmony which have since so rung in the ears of brother poets that echoes of them may be detected even in the work of such original and accomplished versemen as Rossetti and Swinburne. It is no small achievement to have pursued one's ideal until one's dying day, conscious the while that, great as one's impediments have been from without, one's chief obstacle has been one's own self. WILLIAM P. TRENT