Classic Poem

ODE XXI.

WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN ,

AFTER RAMBLING THROUGH CAMBRIDGESHIRE AND ESSEX .

I.

Now farewell Summer's fervid sky,
That, while the sun thro' Cancer rides
With chariot slow and feverish eye,
Scorches the beach-clad forest-sides!
And farewell earlier Autumn's milder ray,
Which, the warm labours of the sickle o'er,
Could make the heart of swain industrious gay,
Viewing in barn secure his wheaten store,
What time the social hours moved blithe along,
Urg'd by the nut-brown ale and jolly harvest song.

II.

What different sounds around me rise!
Now midst a barren scene I rove,
Where the rude haum in hillocks lies,
Where the rash sportsman frights the grove.
Ah! cruel sport! ah! pain-inspiring sound!
How hoarse your death-note to his listening ear,
Who late, wild warbled music floating round,
Blest the wild warblers of the rising year;
Who as each songster strain'd his little throat,
Grateful himself would try the soft responsive note.

III.

Yet still in Autumn's fading form,
The tender melting charm we trace,
Such as, Love's season past, still warm
The sober matron's modest face;
Mild beaming suns oft hid by fleeting clouds,
Blue mantled skies, light-fring'd with golden hues,
Brooks, whose swoll'n waters mottled leaves o'erspread,
Fields, where the plough its steady course pursues,
And woods, whose many-shining leaves might move
Fancy's poetic hand to paint the orange grove.

IV.

Oh! still, — for Fancy is a child —
Still with the circling hours I play,
And feast on hips and blackberries wild,
Like truant school-boy gay;
Or eager plunge in cool pellucid stream,
Heedless, that summer's sultry day is fled;
Or muse, as breathes the flute, some rural theme,
Such theme, as Fancy's song may yet bestead;
Or, stretched at ease, will teach the listening groves,
In tuneful Maro's strains, some rosy rustic loves.

V.

Now bear me to the distant wood,
And bear me to the silent stream,
Where erst I stray'd in serious mood,
Lost in some rapt'rous dream.
To me, O H ORNSEY , what retreat so fair?
What shade to me so consecrate as thine?
And on thy banks, poor streamlet, did I care
For all the spring haunts of the tuneful nine?
Ah! pleasures, how ye lengthen, as ye fade!
As spreads the sun's faint orb at twilight's dubious shade!

VI.

For oh! pale stream, how many a tear
I mingled in thy waters slow!
Ev'n mid the blossoms of its year,
Youth takes its tale of woe.
And thus thro' life: for what is human life?
A changeful day, a motley-tinctured scene;
How quick succeed the hours of peace and strife!
How sombre tints o'erspread the cheerful green!
Ev'n while fair Hope lights up her brightest sky,
Shew avers 'mid her doubts, and learns to heave a sigh.

VII.

But, lo! the sun now seeks the west,
And, see! the distant landscape dies!
And now, with anxious cares oppress'd,
I view yon dome arise!
Ah! soon, too soon, I give the faint adieu,
And sleeps my song, as fades the cheerful day,
Soon shall the dusky city bound my view,
And hag-ey'd spleen N OVEMBER'S call obey.
Ye fields, ye groves, whose every charm could please;
Ye gentle friends, adieu, and farewell rural ease!

VIII.

Yet field, and grove, and gentle friend,
When M EMORY bids, shall re-appear;
Quick, where she lifts her wand, ascend
The long departed year:
The choirs, whose warblings charm'd the youthful S PRING ,
And S UMMER'S glittering tribes, and all that now
Of A UTUMN fades, their mingled charms shall bring;
And the full year 'mid W INTER'S reign shall glow;
While F ANCY , as the vision'd forms arise,
Shall pencil woods and groves, and streams and purple skies.