 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
26
AUTUMN.
The sun is now rising above the old trees,
His beams on the silver dew play,
The gossamer tenderly waves in the breeze,
And the mists are fast rolling away.
His beams on the silver dew play,
The gossamer tenderly waves in the breeze,
And the mists are fast rolling away.
Let us leave the warm bed, and the pillow of down,
The morning fair bids us arise,
Little boy, for the shadows of midnight are flown,
And the sunbeams peep into our eyes.
The morning fair bids us arise,
Little boy, for the shadows of midnight are flown,
And the sunbeams peep into our eyes.
We'll pass by the garden that leads to the gate,
But where is its gaiety now?
The Michaelmas-daisy blows lonely and late,
And the yellow leaf whirls from the bough.
But where is its gaiety now?
The Michaelmas-daisy blows lonely and late,
And the yellow leaf whirls from the bough.
27
Last night the glad reapers their harvest-home sang,
And stored the full garners with grain:
The woods and the echoes with merry sounds rang,
As they bore the last sheaf from the plain.
And stored the full garners with grain:
The woods and the echoes with merry sounds rang,
As they bore the last sheaf from the plain.
But hark! from the woodlands the sound of a gun,
The wounded bird flutters and dies;
Where can be the pleasure, for nothing but fun,
To shoot the poor thing as it flies?
The wounded bird flutters and dies;
Where can be the pleasure, for nothing but fun,
To shoot the poor thing as it flies?
The timid hare, too, in fright and dismay,
Runs swift through the brushwood and grass,
She turns and she winds to get out of their way,
But the cruel dogs won't let her pass.
Runs swift through the brushwood and grass,
She turns and she winds to get out of their way,
But the cruel dogs won't let her pass.
Ah! poor little partridge and pheasant and hare,
I wish they would leave you to live1
For my part, I wonder how people can bear
To see the distress that they give.
I wish they would leave you to live1
For my part, I wonder how people can bear
To see the distress that they give.
28
When Reynard at midnight steals down to the farm,
And kills the poor chickens and cocks;
Then rise, Father Goodman, there can be no harm
In chasing a thief of a fox.
And kills the poor chickens and cocks;
Then rise, Father Goodman, there can be no harm
In chasing a thief of a fox.
Or you, Mr. Butcher, and Fisherman, you
May follow your trades, I must own:
So chimneys are swept, when they want it—but who
Would sweep them for pleasure alone?
May follow your trades, I must own:
So chimneys are swept, when they want it—but who
Would sweep them for pleasure alone?
If men would but think of the torture they give
To creatures that cannot complain,
They surely would let the poor animals live,
And not make a sport of their pain!
To creatures that cannot complain,
They surely would let the poor animals live,
And not make a sport of their pain!
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |