A U TU

T UM M

N.

BY MR. BREREWOOD.

THO

HO' the seasons must alter, ah! yet let me find

What all must confess to be rare,
A female still cheerful, and faithful and kind,

The blessings of autumn to share.

Let one side of our cottage, a flourishing vine

Overspread with its branches, and fhade; Whose clusters appear more transparent and fine,

As its leaves are beginning to fade.

When the fruit makes the branches bend down with its load,

In our orchard surrounded with pales :
In a bed of clean straw let our apples be stow'd,

For a tart that in winter regales.

When the vapours that rise from the earth in the morn

Seem to hang on its surface like smoke,
Till dispers’d by the sun that gilds over the corn,

Within doors let us prattle and joke,

But when we see clear all the hues of the leaves,

And at work in the fields are all hands,
Some in reaping the wheat, others binding the fheaves,

Let us carelesly strole o'er the lands.

How pleasing the sight of the toiling they make,

To collect what kind Nature has sent!
Heaven grant we may not of their labour partake;

But, O! give us their happy content.

And sometimes, on a bank, under shade, by a brook,

Let us filently fit at our ease,
And there gaze on the stream, till the fish on the hook

Struggles hard to procure its release.

And now when the husbandman fings harvest home,

And'the corn's all got into the house; When the long with’d for time of their meeting is come,

To frolic, and feast, and carouse:

When the leaves from the trees are begun to be shed,

And are leaving the branches all bare, Either strew'd at the roots, shrivell’d, wither'd, and dead,

Or else blown to and fro in the air:

When the ways are so miry, that bogs they might seem,

And the axle-tree's ready to break;
While the waggoner whistles in stopping his team,

And then claps the poor jades on the neck:

In

In the morning let's follow the cry of the hounds,

Or the fearful young covey beset ;
Which, tho'fkulking in stubble and weeds on the grounds,

Are becoming a prey to the net.

Let's enjoy all the pleasure retirement affords,

Still amus’d with these innocent sports,
Nor once envy

the

pomp of fine ladies and lords, With their grand entertainments at courts.

In the evening when lovers are leaning on stiles,

Deep eng g'd in some amorous chat,
And 'tis very well known by his grin, and her smiles,

What they both have a mind to be at;

To our dwelling, tho' homely, well-pleas’d to repair,

Let our mutual endearments revive,
And let no single action, or look, but declare,

How contented and happy we live,

Should ideas arise that may rume the soul,

Let soft music the phantoms remove,
For’tis harmony only has force to controul,

And unite all the passions in love.

open, her

With her eyes but half

cap
all

awry,
When the lass is preparing for bed;
And the sleepy dull clown, who fits nodding just by,

Sometimes rouzes and scratches his head.

In the night when 'tis cloudy and rainy, and dark,
And the labourers fnore as they lie,

Not a noise to disturb us, unless a dog bark
In the farm, or the village hard by.

At the time of sweet reft, and of quiet like this,
Ere our eyes are clos'd up in their lids,

Let us welcome the season, and taste of that blifs,
Which the funshine and daylight forbids.

OR once, ye critics, let the fportive Mufe

Of ftern-eyed Gravity-for, tho' the Muse
To frolic be difpos'd, no fong the chants
Immoral; nor one picture will she hold,
But Virtue may approve it with a smile.
Ye fylvan deities! awhile adieu!

Ye curling ftreams! whofe banks are fring'd with flowers,
Violet and hare-bell, or the king-cup bright,
Farewell! for I must leave your rich perfumes
To fing the Pin in ever founding lays:
But not that Pin, at whofe circumference
Rotund, the ftrong-nerv'd ruftic hurls the bowl
Ponderous and vaft: nor that which window bars
From thief nocturnal: nor that other call'd-
A fkittle; chiefly found where alehouse fnug

Invites mechanic to the flowing cup

Of Calvert's mild, o'er-canopied with froth.
No 'tis the Pin so much by ladies us'd;
Without whofe aid the nymph of nicest taste,
Of neatest mould, a flattern would appear.
Hail then, thou little useful inftrument!
Tho' fmall, yet confequential. For by thee
Beauty fets off her charms, as at the glass
Lucy, or Phillis, beft adapts thy point.
Without thy service would the ribband flaunt
Loose to the fanning gale, nor on the head
Of belle would ftand her whimfical attire.
The kerchief from her neck of fnow would fall
With freedom bold, and leave her bosom bare.
How would the fempftrefs trim thy want regret
As fhe her apron forms! And how the man
Of law, fagacious, with his fpectacles
On nose reverted! frequent does he want
Thy prompt affistance, to connect his scraps
And notes obliterated o'er. Thee oft
In alley, path, wide fquare, and open street,
The miser picks, as confcious of thy ufe;
With frugal hand, accompanied with brow
Of corrugated bent, he sticks thee fafe,
Interior on his coat; then creeps along,
Well judging thy proportion to a groat.
Thro' all thy different storehouses to trace
Thy prefence, either in the fculptur'd dome,
Or tenement clay-built, would ask a pen
With points almost as various as thy heads.