

AUTUMN. 
AUTUMN. 
Attemper’d suns arise, 
Sweet-beam’d and shedding oft through lucid clouds 
A pleasing calm; while, broad and brown below, 
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale 
Rolls its light billows o’er the bending plain : 
A calm of plenty ! 
THOMSON. 
Who loves not Autumn’s joyous round, 
When corn, and wine, and oil abound? 
Yet who would choose, however gay, 
A year of unrenewed decay ? 
MONTGOMERY. 
No spring or summer’s beauty hath such grace 
As I have seen in one Autumnal face. 
DoNnNE. 
Autumn tinges every fertile branch 
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 
AKENSIDE, 
Q 2 

























