  Ancient Cornish name: Jewel: Opal. Hope. October Fourth. St. Francis and St. Benedight died 1226. St. Francis and St. Benedight, From curfew time, William Cartwright. Who soweth in rain Tusser. When Autumn, sad but sunlit, doth appear, With his gold hand gilding the falling leaf, Bringing up Winter to fulfil the year, Bearing upon his back the ripened sheaf; When all the hills with woolly seed are white, When lightning fires and gleams do meet from far the sight; When the fair apple, flushed as even sky, Doth bend the tree unto the fertile ground, When juicy pears and berries of black dye Do dance in air and call the eye around: Then, be the even foul or be it fair, Methinks my heart's delight is stained with some care. Chatterton. There is strange music in the stirring wind, When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone, Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere. W. L. Bowles. Of Gardens. In October and beginning of November come services, medlars, bullaces, roses cut or removed to come late, hollyoaks, and such like. Bacon. Seed-Time. October's gold is dim—the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapt in damp. In mire of village way The hedgerow leaves are stampt, and, all forgot, The broodless nest sits visible in the thorn. Autumn, among her drooping marigolds, Weeps all her garnered fields and empty folds And dripping orchards, plundered and forlorn. David Gray. Autumn Days. Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden, Autumn days! Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Woefully and hoarsely calling; Pelting hail and drenching rain, On thy scanty vestments falling. Sad and mournful are thy ways, Grieving, wailing, Autumn days! Will. Carleton. Moan, oh ye autumn winds! The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; The lily's gracious head All low must lie, Because the gentle Summer now is dead. Mourn, mourn, oh autumn winds, Lament and mourn; How many half-blown buds must close and die; Hopes with the Summer born All faded lie, And leave us desolate and earth forlorn! A. A. Procter. St. Simon and St. Jude's Day. (October 28th.) It is a Bedford custom for boys to cry baked pears about the town, with the following words:— Who knows what I have got? October brings the cold weather down, When the wind and the rain continue; He nerves the limbs that are lazy grown, And braces the languid sinew; So while we have voices and lungs to cheer, And the winter frost before us, Come chant to the king of the mortal year, And thunder him out in chorus. E. E. Bowen. "Decay, decay," the wildering west winds cry; "Decay, decay," the moaning woods reply; The whole dead autumn landscape, drear and chill, Strikes the same chord of desolate sadness still. Full moon in October without frost, no frost till full moon in November. Hoar frost and gipsies never stay nine days in a place. There are always nineteen fine days in October. Kentish saying. An April frost Is sharp, but kills not; sad October's storm Strikes when the juices and the vital sap Are ebbing from the leaf. Henry Taylor. |
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