2H)e 2Last ^ftonfc'M)oo'& <Sjure. 337 



The cock's shrill trump that tells of scattered corn, 

 Passed breezily on by all his flapping mates, 



Faint and more faint, from barn to barn is borne, 

 Southward, perhaps to far Magellan's straits. . . . 



The single crow a single caw lets fall ; 



And all around me every bush and tree 

 Says Autumn's here and Winter soon will be, 



Who snows his soft white sleep and silence over all. 



And Read, in " The Closing Scene " : 



All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, 

 The hills seemed farther and the streams sang low ; 



As in a dream the distant woodman hewed 



His winter log with many a muffled blow. . . . 



The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew, 

 Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before 



Silent till some replying warder blew 



His alien horn, and then was heard no more. . . . 



But, amid the melancholy oL the autumn 

 Muse and the gloom of autumnal skies, I catch a 

 pleasing fancy to nurse through the tedious win- 

 ter hours. I thought the crocus the herald of 

 spring ; but in the copse I already catch a gleam 

 of vernal gold. The witch-hazel (Hamamelis 

 Virginiand) is first to put forth its sturdy blos- 

 soms, pure and fresh at this season as was the 

 gilded urn of March. Often I meet its flower- 

 clusters in the wintry woods when all its com- 

 panions save the oak, beech, and hornbeam are 



