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.

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
An hour may lay it in the dust.

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
An hour may lay it in the dust.

And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved read more

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved like stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.

Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And whatever read more

Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.