No! leave the mind unchain'd and free, And what they ought, mankind will be, No hypocrite, no lurking fiend, No artist to some evil end, But good and great, benign and just, As God and nature made them first.
October came the thirtieth day: And thus I heard October say;
"The lengthening nights and shortening days Have brought the year towards a close, The oak a leafless bough displays And all is hastening to repose; To make the most of what remains Is now to take the greater pains.
"An orange hue the grove assumes, The indian-summer-days appear; When that deceitful summer comes Be sure to hail the winter near: If autumn wears a mourning coat Be sure, to keep the mind afloat.
"The flowers have dropt, their blooms are gone, The herbage is no longer green; The birds are to their haunts withdrawn, The leaves are scatter'd through the plain; The sun approaches Capricorn, And man and creature looks forlorn.
"Amidst a scene of such a cast, The driving sleet, or falling snow, The sullen cloud, the northern blast, What have you left for comfort now, When all is dead, or seems to die That cheer'd the heart or charm'd the eye?
"To meet the scene, and it arrives, (A scene that will in time retire) Enjoy the pine--while that remains You need not want the winter fire. It rose unask'd for, from the plain, And when consumed, will rise again.
"Enjoy the glass, enjoy the board, Nor discontent with fate betray, Enjoy what reason will afford, Nor disregard what females say; Their chat will pass away the time, When out of cash or out of rhyme.
"The cottage warm and cheerful heart Will cheat the stormy winter night, Will bid the glooms of care depart And to December give delight."-- Thus spoke October--rather gay, Then seized his staff, and walk'd away.
[A] A well-known insect, when full grown, about two inches in length, and of the exact color of a green leaf. It is of the genus cicada, or grasshopper kind, inhabiting the green foliage of trees and singing such a song as Caty-did in the evening, towards autumn.--_Freneau's note._
In a branch of willow hid Sings the evening Caty-did: From the lofty locust bough Feeding on a drop of dew, In her suit of green array'd Hear her singing in the shade Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!