286 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
Farewell to Autumn ! She's passing away 
Silently, swiftly going — 
She is shaking the last brown leaves from the spray, 
And they fail on the earth, where the sun's slant ray 
Finds only damp moss growing. 
Autumn is parting ; mute and fast 
Her few faint flowers are dying ; 
The noon of the year is gone and past. 
And every moaning and muttering blast, 
The summer's dirge is crying. 
But let us be merry, though summer is gone, 
And Autumn away is gliding ; 
And hoary winter, now hurrying on. 
With storms and snows, will be here anon, 
'Mid winds all loudly chiding. 
Still, ever be merry, as I am now, 
Thorough the wintry weather ; 
For ye have the bright hearth's cheering glow, 
While for me the ruddy hedge-berries grow, 
So let us be gay together ! 
