The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.

I am ashes where once I was fire.

And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.