320 SEPTEMBER. 



'Tis his on the mountains to stalk like a ghost, 

 Enshrouded in mist, in which nature is lost, 

 Till he lifts up his eyes, and flood, valley and height, 

 In one moment all swim in an ocean of light ; 

 While the sun like a glorious banner unfurled, 

 Seems to wave o'er a new, more magnificent world. 

 'Tis his, by the mouth of some cavern his seat, 

 The lightning of heaven to hold at his feet, 

 While the thunder below him, that growls from the cloud, 

 To him comes an echo more awfully loud. 

 When the clear depth of noontide with glittering motion 

 O'erflows the lone glens, an aerial ocean ; 

 \Vhen the earth and the heavens in union profound, 

 Lie blended in beauty that knows not a sound. 

 As his eyes in the sunshiny solitude close, 

 'Neath a rock of the desert in dreaming repose, 

 He sees in his slumbers such visions of old 

 As wild Gaelic songs to his infancy told, 

 O'er the mountains a thousand plumed hunters are borne, 

 And he starts from his dream at the blast of the horn. 



WILSON. 



But let us leave the sportsman for the general 

 aspect of nature which is now decidedly 

 autumnal. The trees are beginning to change 

 colour, the orchards are affluent of pear s, plums 

 and apples ; and the hedges are filled with the 

 abundance of their wild produce, crabs, black 

 glossy clusters of privet, buckthorn, and elder- 

 berries, which furnish the farmer with a cordial 

 cup on his return from market on a winter's 



