When Autumn.
[From a very elegant volume of poems, entitled, "Lays and Lyrics, by Captain Charles Gray, of the Royal Marines, F. R. A. S. E.:" Edinburgh, 1841.—Captain Gray has been long known as a successful song-writer. So far back as 1811, he published a small collection of "Poems and Songs," some of the latter of which have become established favourites with the public. The Captain is a native of Anstruther, in Fifeshire: and, after a service in the royal marine forces of nearly forty years, is now resident in Edinburgh, on the full-pay retired list. The present fine song has been set to music by Mr. Peter Macleod.]
When autumn has laid her sickle by,
And the stacks are theekit to hand them dry;
And the sapless leaves come down firae the trees,
And dance about in the fitfu' breeze;
And the robin again sits burd-alane,
And sings his sang on the auld peat stane;
When come is the hour o' gloamin grey,
Oh! sweet is to me the minstrel's lay.
When winter is driving his cloud on the gale,
And spairgin about his snaw and his hail,
And the door is steekit against the blast,
And the winnocks wi' wedges are firm and fast,
And the ribs are rypet, the cannel a-light,
And the fire on the hearth is bleezin' bright,
And the bicker is reamin' wi' pithy brown ale;
Oh! dear is to me a sang or a tale.
Then I tove awa' by the ingle-side,
And tell o' the blasts I was wont to bide,
When the nichts were lang and the sea ran high,
And the moon hid her face in the depths of the sky,
And the mast was strained, and the canvass rent,
By some demon on message of mischief sent;
Oh! I bless my stars that at hame I can bide,
For dear, dear to me is my ain ingle-side.