The Harvester was the rustling of autumn leaves, there one minute, gone the next.
The mellow autumn came, and with it cameThe promised party, to enjoy its sweets.The corn is cut, the manor full of game;The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beatsIn russet jacket;__ynx-like is his aim;Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!And ah, ye poachers!_'Tis no sport for peasants.
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The mellow autumn came, and with it cameThe promised party, to enjoy its sweets.The corn is cut, the manor full of game;The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beatsIn russet jacket;__ynx-like is his aim;Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!And ah, ye poachers!_'Tis no sport for peasants.
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