Come my love--O! come with me, We will wander wild and free,-- Where the pale moon sheds her light, And the dew-drops glisten bright;-- Where is heard the gurgling flow Of the streamlet, we will go, And our joyous feet shall tread, Near the humble violets bed. We will breathe the rich perfume, Born of fragrant flowers in bloom; All that's sweet and all that's fair, From green earth or scented air, Nature brings in vesture gay, Laughing strews around our way. We will seek the shady grove, Through its mazes we will rove, Sit upon the moss-grown seat, And our youthful vows repeat. Years have passed since we were there, Still thy cheeks are fresh and fair, Not a single care-worn line, Mars that lovely brow of thine. Many gay and gladsome hours, We have spent in sunny bowers; Not one cloud of care or strife, E'er has dimmed our path thro' life,-- And our pilgrimage doth seem As one long and happy dream. Come my love the Moon's on high, Sailing o'er the summer sky, And the stars are twinkling through Boundless fields of azure-blue-- Faintly from the leafy trees, Sighs the balmy southern breeze. Down the valley we will stray, Where the night-flowers scent the way; Arm in arm we'll wander o'er Many a scene beloved of yore; Tell the oft repeated tale, By the fountain in the vale,-- Talk of deep, confiding love, And of hearts that never rove. ALEX. LACEY BEARD. _Aldie, Va._ For the Southern Literary Messenger. AUTUMN. Come to the forests, while the leaves are falling In rustling showers from every yielding bough-- Seek the wild haunts, where, save some lone bird calling Its mate departed, all is silence now. Leave the bright hearth, where love and peace are smiling, To dream awhile 'midst Autumn's falling leaves, To watch her power the Summer's charms despoiling As time of early joys the heart bereaves. There, as the year's bright glories fade around thee Bring home the lesson to thy saddened heart; Muse on the loves and friendships that have bound thee, Which thou hast seen like autumn leaves depart. Or if the Past yield no sad recollection, Upon the Future let thy thoughts be cast; Nor check the current of the sad reflection That whispers, human life is fleeting fast. Then bow to Him, in meek and low contrition, Whose Wisdom, full of Mercy, doth ordain To man a second spring in realms elysian, Where the bright hues of Summer ever reign. For the Southern Literary Messenger. NAPOLEON. Aye! there he lies,--the mighty one! Death's hand is on him now; And fearfully he puts his seal Upon that haughty brow. What boots it that his own proud name In foreign lands has rung? That orators his fame have spoke, That bards his deeds have sung?