SUMMER AUTUMN, 259 



When the blazing Sun 



Through the Crab hath run, 



And the Lion's wrath 



Inflames his path, 



What garden can vie with the glowing moors ! 

 The light clouds seem in mid air to rest 

 On the dappled mountain's misty breast, 

 And living things bask in the noon-tide ray, 

 That lights up the summer's glorious day ; 

 Nor a sough of wind, nor a sound is heard, 

 Save the faint shrill chirp of some lonely bird 

 Save the raven's croak, or the buzzard's cry, 

 Or the wild bee's choral minstrelsy, 

 Or the tinkling bell of the drowsy nock, 

 Where they lie in the shade of the caverned rock : 

 But when the last hues of declining day 

 Are melted and lost iii the twilight grey, 

 And the stars peep forth, and the full-orbed moon 

 Serenely looks down from her highest noon, 

 And the rippling water reflects her light 

 Where the birch and the pine-tree deepen the night : 

 Oh ! who but must own his proud spirit subdued 

 By the calm of the desert solitude : 

 So balmy, so silent, so solemnly fair, 

 As if some blest spirit were riding the air, 

 And might commune with man on the moorland bare ! 



The moors ! the moors ! the joyous moors ! 

 When Autumn displays her golden stores ; 



When the morning's breath 



Blows across the heath, 



And the fern waves wide 



On the mountain's side, 



'Tis gladness to ride 



At the peep of dawn o'er the dewy moors ! 

 For the sportsmen have mounted the topmost crags, 

 And the fleet dogs bound o'er the mossy hags, 

 And the mist clears off, as the lagging sun 

 With his first ray gleams on the glancing gun, 

 And the startled grouse, and the black cock spring 

 At the well-known report on whirring wing. 

 Or wander we north, where the dun deer go 

 Unrestrained o'er the summits of huge Ben-y-gloe ; 

 And Glen Tilt, and Glen Bruar re-echo the sound 

 Of the hart held to bay by the deep-mouthed blood-hound, 

 And the eagle stoops down from Schechallien to claim, 

 With the fox and the raven, his share of the game. 

 But a cloud hath o'ershadowed the forest and waste, 

 And the Angel of Death on the whirlwind hath passed 



