310 SEPTEMBER. 



There are peasants in the hamlets low, 

 Busied among their orchard-trees, 



Where the pleasant apples are red and gold, 



Like token-fruits of those of old, 

 In the gardens of the Hesperides. 



And boys are busy in the woods, 



Gathering the ripe nuts, bright and brown ; 

 In shady lanes the children stray 

 Looking for blackberries through the day, 



Those berries of such old renown ! 



Grey mists at morn brood o'er the earth, 



Shadowy as those on northern seas : 

 The gossamer's filmy work is done, 

 Like a web by moonlight fairies spun, 

 And left to whiten in the breeze. 



The sun bursts forth the distant hills 

 Shine out, and splendid is the day 



A sombre radiance crowns each tree, 



A fading glory solemnly 



Hangs on each leaf in its decay ; 



Go to the silent autumn woods ! 



There has gone forth a spirit stern ; 

 Its wing has waved in triumph here, 

 The Spring's green tender leaf is sere, 



And withering hangs the summer fern. 



