When Autumn is flaunting his banner of pride 



For glorj' that Summer has fled, 

 Arrayed in the robes of his royalty dyed 



In tawny and orange and red ; 

 When the oak is yet rife with the vigour of life, 



Though his acorns are dropping below, 

 Through bramble and brake shall the echoes awake. 



To the ring of a clear Talh-Ho ! 



Whyte-Melville. 



