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Autumn strove hard to deck out the Molly’s rough coat 
With touches of yellow and red; 
Ikit the honest old hero her fair fingers smote 
With his weapon-girt leaves till they hied; 
And some drops that were caught on the henies he here. 
Gave the deep ruddy glow that they ever since wore. 
The Ferns, too, ai’e waving all statelily here. 
With seed-stored fronds thickly laid; 
And shedding, when hastily hrushed by the deei-. 
Their light fertile dust o’er the glade. 
Oil, beautiful—beautiful ! stately, yet gay. 
Is a deep forest-glen on a bright Autumn day ! 
Oh ! look on the strange and the whimsical things 
That among the wild fungi we find; 
And lichens, and moss that like fairy-work springs,— 
If ye love them not all, ye ai'e blind; 
Ye are blind unto Nature’s most glorious looks. 
If ye read not and love not her forest-boni books. 
Then welcome we Autumn, rich heiress of Spring, 
Who fills our dear home-land with glee: 
True, Winter is coming—yet still will we sing 
Thrice welcome, gay Autumn, to thee! 
And oft o’er the uplands our voices shall speak 
Of Autumn’s bright treasures and bonny brown cheek. 
