The varied landscape changing autumn spreads
O’er sunny vales that slumber at thy feet;
Where roll the babbling brook and deeper stream,
Winding, like threads of silver tissue, wrought
By Moorish maidens on their robes of green.
Around thee rise a host of smiling towns,
Bearing the names of mightier ones abroad.
There Dudley, glittering on the northern sky,
Stands on her lofty height supremely fair,
While westward, Woodstock with her groves is seen,