Now searching the furrows,—now mounting to cheer him;
The gard’ner delights in his sweet simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him;
The slow lingering school-boys forget they’ll be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before them,
In mantle of sky-blue and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.
“When all the gay scenes of the summer are o’er,
And autumn slow enters so silent and sallow;
And millions of warblers that charmed us before,