AUTUMN.
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Alas! with swift and silent pace,Impatient Time rolls on the year;The seasons change, and Nature's faceNow sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. 2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay;Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;The flowers of Spring are swept away,And Summer fruits desert the bough. 3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high,And wanton'd on the western breeze,Now trod in dust neglected lie,As Boreas strips the bending trees. 4 The fields, that waved with golden grain,As russet heaths are wild and bare;Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. 5 No more, while through the midnight shade,Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray,Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,As Prognè[1] pours the melting lay. 6 From this capricious clime she soars,Oh! would some god but wings supply!To where each morn the Spring restores,Companion of her flight, I'd fly. 7 Vain wish! me Fate compels to bearThe downward season's iron reign,Compels to breathe polluted air,And shiver on a blasted plain. 8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield,If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail,And Ceres flies the naked field,And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? 9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,To cheer me in the darkening hour?The grape remains! the friend of wit,In love and mirth of mighty power. 10 Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl;Apollo! shoot thy parting ray:This gives the sunshine of the soul,This god of health, and verse, and day. 11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow,The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;My Stella with new charms shall glow,And every bliss in wine shall meet. [Footnote 1: 'Prognè:' the nightingale.] * * * * *
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