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 | The harp and plow |  |
NOVEMBER.
The beauty of the fields is flown,
All withered their array;
The brooks sing in an undertone,
The woods are grim and gray;
O'er all of Nature's face is thrown
The semblance of decay.
All withered their array;
The brooks sing in an undertone,
The woods are grim and gray;
O'er all of Nature's face is thrown
The semblance of decay.
The ditcher in the lonely mead
Arouses with surprise,
To hear from some frost-blackened weed
The pee-dee's startling cries;
Sees solitary ravens speed
Along the windy skies.
Arouses with surprise,
To hear from some frost-blackened weed
66
Sees solitary ravens speed
Along the windy skies.
Impending storms; the frozen north
Is treasuring snow and hail;
The south is threatening the earth
With rain and gusty gale;
And Phœbus when he glimmers forth
Looks sickly, cold, and pale.
Is treasuring snow and hail;
The south is threatening the earth
With rain and gusty gale;
And Phœbus when he glimmers forth
Looks sickly, cold, and pale.
Foreshortened by the cloudy sky,
The day is quickly done;
'T is twilight to the laborer's eye
Ere sets the tarnished sun;
A hunter, idly halting nigh,
Gives him the ‘evening gun.’
The day is quickly done;
'T is twilight to the laborer's eye
Ere sets the tarnished sun;
A hunter, idly halting nigh,
Gives him the ‘evening gun.’
The cotter in the chimney-nook
Sits looking in the fire;
There is a sadness in his look—
He hears a pensive lyre;
The music is of nature's book,
And her autumnal choir.
Sits looking in the fire;
There is a sadness in his look—
He hears a pensive lyre;
The music is of nature's book,
And her autumnal choir.
The night-winds, roaring o'er the lea,
Begirt his dwelling round;
Now shrill their melancholy key,
Now lowly and profound;
The cotter hears, and pensively
He muses at the sound.
Begirt his dwelling round;
Now shrill their melancholy key,
Now lowly and profound;
The cotter hears, and pensively
He muses at the sound.
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Anon he opes the door to spy
The aspect of the night;
Dark clouds are driving 'thwart the sky,
And wild-fowl on their flight;
He hears their undulating cry,
Faint from their distant height.
The aspect of the night;
Dark clouds are driving 'thwart the sky,
And wild-fowl on their flight;
He hears their undulating cry,
Faint from their distant height.
Borne inland from the misty deep
Now comes the loitering rain;
The dreamer, waking from his sleep,
Listens, and dreams again
Of plunging barks, that, wrecking, sweep
The storm-enshrouded main.
Now comes the loitering rain;
The dreamer, waking from his sleep,
Listens, and dreams again
Of plunging barks, that, wrecking, sweep
The storm-enshrouded main.
| The harp and plow | |