Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/35
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Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest.
November's sky is chill and drear,November's leaf is red and sear:Late, gazing down the steepy linn,That hems our little garden in,Low in its dark and narrow glen, 5You scarce the rivulet might ken,So thick the tangled greenwood grew,So feeble trill'd the streamlet through:Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seenThrough bush and brier, no longer green, 10An angry brook, it sweeps the glade,Brawls over rock and wild cascade,And, foaming brown with double speed,Hurries its waters to the Tweed.
No longer Autumn's glowing red 15Upon our Forest hills is shed;No more, beneath the evening beam,Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam;Away hath pass'd the heather-bellThat bloom'd so rich on Needpath-fell; 20