George Gordon Noel Byron

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn read more

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.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque read more

Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.

Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever read more

Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.

While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.