No. IX.—AUTUMN, IN ITS FIRST ASPECT.Theorchard's plenteous store,The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load,That passers-by may gather from the road,Hang now the near walls o'er:And filberts, bursting fair,Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand,And pluck the offered treasures of the land,With wood-nuts that are there.The still hill-sides are cladWith bloom; the distant moorland now is brightWith blossom, and with beauty; the rich sightThe heart of man makes glad.The hamlet is at peace;And, in the ripened fields, the reapers plyTheir useful labour; while a golden skySmiles on the soil's increase.To the romantic spring,That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill,The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill,While carols rude they sing!Sweet is the cuckoo's songIn early Spring, and musical and blessedThe nightingale—young Summer's lutenist—Pours its gay notes-along;And, in the thunder's roar,In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash,Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash,The bursting tempest o'er!As solitary tree,That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shockOf rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock,Stands in its grandeur free.But sweeter than them all,And softer than the voice of love returned,Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,From village maids that fall!To schoolboys' feelings dearIs rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zestThey plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—Or ramble far and near.How oft, when changeful TimeHas sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,Remembrance brings to mind—and gladness sheds—The pastimes of our prime!The lowing of the kine,In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheerOf rustics, as they joinThe merry dance at eve;Each rural sound has in it joy and health:Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,And gladly truth receive.The calm and picturesque;The foliaged cedar, and the wreathëd beech,More glowing thoughts and impulses can teachThan Learning from his desk!
Theorchard's plenteous store,The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load,That passers-by may gather from the road,Hang now the near walls o'er:And filberts, bursting fair,Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand,And pluck the offered treasures of the land,With wood-nuts that are there.The still hill-sides are cladWith bloom; the distant moorland now is brightWith blossom, and with beauty; the rich sightThe heart of man makes glad.The hamlet is at peace;And, in the ripened fields, the reapers plyTheir useful labour; while a golden skySmiles on the soil's increase.To the romantic spring,That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill,The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill,While carols rude they sing!Sweet is the cuckoo's songIn early Spring, and musical and blessedThe nightingale—young Summer's lutenist—Pours its gay notes-along;And, in the thunder's roar,In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash,Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash,The bursting tempest o'er!As solitary tree,That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shockOf rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock,Stands in its grandeur free.But sweeter than them all,And softer than the voice of love returned,Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,From village maids that fall!To schoolboys' feelings dearIs rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zestThey plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—Or ramble far and near.How oft, when changeful TimeHas sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,Remembrance brings to mind—and gladness sheds—The pastimes of our prime!The lowing of the kine,In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheerOf rustics, as they joinThe merry dance at eve;Each rural sound has in it joy and health:Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,And gladly truth receive.The calm and picturesque;The foliaged cedar, and the wreathëd beech,More glowing thoughts and impulses can teachThan Learning from his desk!
Theorchard's plenteous store,The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load,That passers-by may gather from the road,Hang now the near walls o'er:And filberts, bursting fair,Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand,And pluck the offered treasures of the land,With wood-nuts that are there.The still hill-sides are cladWith bloom; the distant moorland now is brightWith blossom, and with beauty; the rich sightThe heart of man makes glad.The hamlet is at peace;And, in the ripened fields, the reapers plyTheir useful labour; while a golden skySmiles on the soil's increase.To the romantic spring,That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill,The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill,While carols rude they sing!Sweet is the cuckoo's songIn early Spring, and musical and blessedThe nightingale—young Summer's lutenist—Pours its gay notes-along;And, in the thunder's roar,In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash,Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash,The bursting tempest o'er!As solitary tree,That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shockOf rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock,Stands in its grandeur free.But sweeter than them all,And softer than the voice of love returned,Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,From village maids that fall!To schoolboys' feelings dearIs rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zestThey plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—Or ramble far and near.How oft, when changeful TimeHas sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,Remembrance brings to mind—and gladness sheds—The pastimes of our prime!The lowing of the kine,In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheerOf rustics, as they joinThe merry dance at eve;Each rural sound has in it joy and health:Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,And gladly truth receive.The calm and picturesque;The foliaged cedar, and the wreathëd beech,More glowing thoughts and impulses can teachThan Learning from his desk!
Theorchard's plenteous store,The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load,That passers-by may gather from the road,Hang now the near walls o'er:
Theorchard's plenteous store,
The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load,
That passers-by may gather from the road,
Hang now the near walls o'er:
And filberts, bursting fair,Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand,And pluck the offered treasures of the land,With wood-nuts that are there.
And filberts, bursting fair,
Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand,
And pluck the offered treasures of the land,
With wood-nuts that are there.
The still hill-sides are cladWith bloom; the distant moorland now is brightWith blossom, and with beauty; the rich sightThe heart of man makes glad.
The still hill-sides are clad
With bloom; the distant moorland now is bright
With blossom, and with beauty; the rich sight
The heart of man makes glad.
The hamlet is at peace;And, in the ripened fields, the reapers plyTheir useful labour; while a golden skySmiles on the soil's increase.
The hamlet is at peace;
And, in the ripened fields, the reapers ply
Their useful labour; while a golden sky
Smiles on the soil's increase.
To the romantic spring,That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill,The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill,While carols rude they sing!
To the romantic spring,
That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill,
The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill,
While carols rude they sing!
Sweet is the cuckoo's songIn early Spring, and musical and blessedThe nightingale—young Summer's lutenist—Pours its gay notes-along;
Sweet is the cuckoo's song
In early Spring, and musical and blessed
The nightingale—young Summer's lutenist—
Pours its gay notes-along;
And, in the thunder's roar,In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash,Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash,The bursting tempest o'er!
And, in the thunder's roar,
In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash,
Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash,
The bursting tempest o'er!
As solitary tree,That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shockOf rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock,Stands in its grandeur free.
As solitary tree,
That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shock
Of rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock,
Stands in its grandeur free.
But sweeter than them all,And softer than the voice of love returned,Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,From village maids that fall!
But sweeter than them all,
And softer than the voice of love returned,
Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,
From village maids that fall!
To schoolboys' feelings dearIs rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zestThey plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—Or ramble far and near.
To schoolboys' feelings dear
Is rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zest
They plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—
Or ramble far and near.
How oft, when changeful TimeHas sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,Remembrance brings to mind—and gladness sheds—The pastimes of our prime!
How oft, when changeful Time
Has sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,
Remembrance brings to mind—and gladness sheds—
The pastimes of our prime!
The lowing of the kine,In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheerOf rustics, as they join
The lowing of the kine,
In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,
With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheer
Of rustics, as they join
The merry dance at eve;Each rural sound has in it joy and health:Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,And gladly truth receive.
The merry dance at eve;
Each rural sound has in it joy and health:
Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,
And gladly truth receive.
The calm and picturesque;The foliaged cedar, and the wreathëd beech,More glowing thoughts and impulses can teachThan Learning from his desk!
The calm and picturesque;
The foliaged cedar, and the wreathëd beech,
More glowing thoughts and impulses can teach
Than Learning from his desk!