SEPTEMBER.
The harvest-men ring Summer out
With thankful song, and joyous shout;
And, when September comes, they hail
The Autumn with the flapping flail.
*
This besides being named “gerst-monat” by the Anglo-Saxons,[328] they also called haligemonath, or the “holy-month,” from an ancient festival held at this season of the year. A Saxon menology, or register of the months, (in Wanley’s addition to Hickes,) mentions it under that denomination, and gives its derivation in words which are thus literally translated “haligemonath—for that our forefathers, the while they heathens were, on this month celebrated their devil-gild.” To inquire concerning an exposition which appears so much at variance with this old name, is less requisite than to take a calm survey of the month itself.
I at my window sit, and see
Autumn his russet fingers lay
On every leaf of every tree;
I call, but summer will not stay.
She flies, the boasting goddess flies,
And, pointing where espaliers shoot,
Deserve my parting gift, she cries,
I take the leaves, but not the fruit.
Still, at this season—