POETICAL CALENDAR. F SEPTEMBER. AN ODE. Arewell the pomp of Flora! vivid scene! Welcome fage Autumn, to invert the yearFarewell to fummer's eye-delighting green! Her verdure fades-autumnal blafts are near. The filky wardrobe now is laid afide, With all the rich regalia of her pride. And must we bid fweet Philomel adieu ? She that was wont to charm us in the grove? Muft Nature's livery wear a fadder hue, -for September mounts his ebon-throne, And the fmooth foliage of the plain is gone. Libra, to weigh the harveft's pearly store, VOL. IX. B At At the fame hour he shows his orient head, Adieu! ye damask roses, which remind The maiden fair-one, how her charms decay; Ye rifing blafts, oh! leave fome mark behind, Some small memorial of the sweets of May: Ah! no-the ruthless season will not hear, Nor fpare one glory of the ruddy year. No more the waste of music sung so late orcheftre of love, For now their winds the birds of passage wait, Yet still shall sage September boaft his pride, [blow, SAN AN AUTUMNAL ODE TO MR. HAYMAN. YET ET once more, glorious God of day, O let me warbling court thy stay Bright Summer to perfection bring, The cold inclemency of Winter cheer, [year. And make th' Autumnal months the mildeft of the Ere yet the ruffet foliage fall I'll climb the mountain's brow, My friend, my Hayman, at thy call, To view the scene below: How sweetly pleafing to behold Forefts of vegetable gold! How mix'd the many chequer'd fhades between The tawny, mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green! How fplendid all the fky! how ftill! How mild the dying gale! How foft the whispers of the rill, That winds along the vale! So tranquil Nature's works appear, It feems the fabbath of the year: As if, the Summer's labour paft, she chofe Such is of well-fpent life the time, Man, verging gradual from his prime, His flowery Spring of pleasures o'er, And Summer's full-blown pride no more, He gains pacific Autumn, mild and bland, [hand. And dauntless braves the stroke of Winter's palfied For yet a while, a little while, And lo! another Spring fhall fmile, Then fhall he shine, a glorious guest, In the bright manfions of the bleft, Where due rewards on virtue are beftow'd, [fow'd. And reap'd the golden fruits of what his Autumn AU A AUTUM N. AN ODE. Las! with swift and filent pace, Impatient Time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face Now sweetly smiles, now frowns fevere. 'Twas fpring, 'twas fummer, all was gay, The verdant leaves that play'd on high, As Boreas ftrips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain, Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, Nor health, nor pleasure, wanders there. No more, while thro' the midnight shade, From |