AUTUMN
:
AN
ODE
,
BY
THE
SAME
.
ALAS
!
with
swift
and
silent
pace
Impatient
Time
rolls
on
the
year
,
The
Seasons
change
,
and
Nature's
face
Now
sweetly
smiles
,
now
frowns
severe
.
'Twas
Spring
,
'twas
Summer
,
all
was
gay
,
Now
Autumn
bends
a
cloudy
brow
,
The
flowers
of
Spring
are
swept
away
,
And
Summer
fruits
desert
the
bough
.
The
verdant
leaves
that
play'd
on
high
,
And
wanton'd
on
the
western
breeze
,
Now
trod
in
dust
,
neglected
lie
,
As
Boreas
strips
the
bending
trees
.
The
fields
that
wav'd
with
golden
grain
,
As
russet
heaths
are
wild
and
bare
;
Not
moist
with
dew
,
but
drench'd
in
rain
;
Nor
Health
,
nor
Pleasure
,
wanders
there
.
No
more
,
while
thro'
the
midnight
shade
,
Beneath
the
moon's
pale
orb
I
stray
,
Soft
pleasing
woes
my
heart
invade
,
As
Progne
pours
the
melting
lay
.
From
this
capricious
clime
she
soars
,
O
!
would
some
God
but
wings
supply
!
To
where
each
morn
the
Spring
restores
,
Companion
of
her
flight
I'd
fly
.
Vain
wish
!
me
Fate
compels
to
bear
The
downward
Season's
iron
reign
,
Compels
to
breathe
polluted
air
,
And
shiver
on
a
blasted
plain
.
What
bliss
to
life
can
Autumn
yield
,
If
glooms
,
and
showers
,
and
storms
prevail
,
And
Ceres
flies
the
naked
field
,
And
flowers
,
and
fruits
,
and
Phoebus
fail
?
Oh
!
what
remains
,
what
lingers
yet
To
cheer
me
in
the
darkening
hour
?
The
Grape
remains
!
the
friend
of
Wit
,
In
Love
and
Mirth
of
mighty
power
.
Haste
,
press
the
clusters
,
fill
the
bowl
—
Apollo
!
shoot
thy
parting
ray
;
This
gives
the
sunshine
of
the
soul
,
This
,
God
of
Health
,
and
Verse
,
and
Day
.
Still
,
still
,
the
jocund
strain
shall
flow
,
The
pulse
with
vigorous
rapture
beat
;
My
STELLA
with
new
charms
shall
glow
,
And
every
bliss
in
wine
shall
meet
.