"Not pleasureless the morn, when dismal fog
Rolls o'er the dewy plain, or thin mist drives;
When the lone timber's saturated branch
Drips freely."

In the progress of day,

"Shorn of his glory through the dim profound,
With melancholy aspect looks the orb
Of stifled day, and while he strives to pierce
And dissipate the slow reluctant gloom,
Seems but a rayless globe, an autumn moon,
That gilds opaque the purple zone of eve,
And yet distributes of her thrifty beam.
Lo! now he conquers; now, subdued awhile,
Awhile subduing, the departed mist
Yields in a brighter beam, or darker clouds
His crimson disk obscure."

The country has now exchanged its refreshing varieties of greens for the
hues of saffron, russet, and dark brown. "The trees," says an amusing
observer of nature, "generally lose their leaves in the following
succession:--walnut, mulberry, horse-chestnut, sycamore, lime, ash,
then, after an interval, elm:

"----'To him who walks
Now in the sheltered mead, loud roars above,
Among the naked branches of the elm,
Still freshening as the hurried cloud departs,