530 AN OCTOBKK DAY'S 11 AMBLE. 



And not a speck I see impair 



The pureness of the bright blue air. 



Yet remnants of that misty screen 

 Still linger on tha meadows green, 

 On coppice bow'r, and hedgerow spray, 

 That flaunting skirts the amusive way. 

 The spider there her mazy line 

 Suspends, how delicately fine ! 

 Besprent with many a sparkling gem, 

 From blade to blade, from stem to stem : 

 Like pleasant thoughts that wait behind, 

 The bright memorials to the mind 

 Of ills, that o'er its prospect cast 

 An early gloom, now clear'd and past ! 



Climb we yon path, and rest awhile 

 Inclining on the upland stile I 

 How deep the stillness all around I 

 How clearly comes each distant sound I 

 The schoolboy's shout now mounts the hill ; 

 And now the ploughman's whistle shrill. 

 Hark ! 'tis the crowing cock ! and hark ! 

 'Tis now the lonely sheepdog's bark ! 

 Or woodquest's solemn coo ; or cry 

 Harsh-grating of the watchful pie ; 

 Or gabbling geese from elmy grange, 

 That o'er the late-shorn stubble range ; 

 Or rooks, that crowd the new-turn'd ground, 

 Or seek the wood with croaking sound. 

 Such simple sounds, that please the ear 

 In nature's ample theatre, 

 Find echoes in the feeling heart 

 More pure than richest strains of art. 



Nor wholly is the thicket mute : 

 Perch'd by the hawthorn's scarlet fruit, 

 Or the tall poplar's leaves among, 

 The redbreast trills his cheerful song. 

 Sing on, sweet bird ! And if thou come 

 To cheer our hearth, the frequent crumb 

 Shall be thy meed. Far off are flown 

 Thy kindred tribes, while thou alone 

 Sing'st blithe, as in the hour of prime, 

 Lov'd warbler of the autumnal time. 

 Of many an early friend bereft, 

 More prize we those who still are left ! 



