On the Moors.
Red lie the moors, the glorious autumn moors,1
Crimson, and red, and scarlet, with the glow2
Of twice ten thousand nodding heather-bells ;3
With wealth of colour, gorgeous as the tints4
Of Iris’ purple robe : What time the bee,5
Gauze-winged and eager-eyed, and amorous,6
Drunk with the nectar of his paradise,7
Hums o’er the honeyed blooms, his song of love.8
The grouse-cock whirs, exultant, from the whins,9
Proud covey-sultan, spreading his brown wings,10
Nor boding coming doom ; the red deer bears11
Grandly aloft his many-antlered head,12
And o’er the rippling burns, and o’er the fells,13
As yet untrodden by the sportsman’s foot,14
Falls soft the mellowing silver of the night.15
On the hill-side, the white flocks rest and browse,16
Nor heed the shepherd’s tyke : sweet Even comes17
With folded hands, with soft, full, limpid eyes,18
Grey-robed and placid from the golden West,19
And from her starry lap, drops asphodels20
On eyes of tired mortals : silence reigns,21
And all around is beauty—all is peace !22