A U TU T UM M N. BY MR. BREREWOOD. THO HO' the seasons must alter, ah! yet let me find What all must confess to be rare, The blessings of autumn to share. Let one side of our cottage, a flourishing vine Overspread with its branches, and fhade; Whose clusters appear more transparent and fine, As its leaves are beginning to fade. When the fruit makes the branches bend down with its load, In our orchard surrounded with pales : For a tart that in winter regales. When the vapours that rise from the earth in the morn Seem to hang on its surface like smoke, Within doors let us prattle and joke, But when we see clear all the hues of the leaves, And at work in the fields are all hands, Let us carelesly strole o'er the lands. How pleasing the sight of the toiling they make, To collect what kind Nature has sent! But, O! give us their happy content. And sometimes, on a bank, under shade, by a brook, Let us filently fit at our ease, Struggles hard to procure its release. And now when the husbandman fings harvest home, And'the corn's all got into the house; When the long with’d for time of their meeting is come, To frolic, and feast, and carouse: When the leaves from the trees are begun to be shed, And are leaving the branches all bare, Either strew'd at the roots, shrivell’d, wither'd, and dead, Or else blown to and fro in the air: When the ways are so miry, that bogs they might seem, And the axle-tree's ready to break; And then claps the poor jades on the neck: In In the morning let's follow the cry of the hounds, Or the fearful young covey beset ; Are becoming a prey to the net. Let's enjoy all the pleasure retirement affords, Still amus’d with these innocent sports, the pomp of fine ladies and lords, With their grand entertainments at courts. In the evening when lovers are leaning on stiles, Deep eng g'd in some amorous chat, What they both have a mind to be at; To our dwelling, tho' homely, well-pleas’d to repair, Let our mutual endearments revive, How contented and happy we live, Should ideas arise that may rume the soul, Let soft music the phantoms remove, And unite all the passions in love. open, her With her eyes but half cap awry, Sometimes rouzes and scratches his head. In the night when 'tis cloudy and rainy, and dark, Not a noise to disturb us, unless a dog bark At the time of sweet reft, and of quiet like this, Let us welcome the season, and taste of that blifs, OR once, ye critics, let the fportive Mufe Of ftern-eyed Gravity-for, tho' the Muse Ye curling ftreams! whofe banks are fring'd with flowers, Invites mechanic to the flowing cup Of Calvert's mild, o'er-canopied with froth. |