AND soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ;
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow,
And from before the lustre of her face
White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step,
Brown Night retires young Day pours in apace,
And opens all the lawny prospect wide.
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine;
And from the bladed field the fearful hare
Limps, awkward: while along the forest glade
The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze
At early passenger. Music awakes
The native voice of undissembled joy;
And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves
His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells;
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day,
Rejoicing in the east! The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow,
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all,
Aslant the dew-bright earth and colour'd air,
He looks in boundless majesty abroad;
And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering stream High-gleaming from afar.
WISH'D morning's come; and now upon the plains
And distant mountains, where they feed their flocks,
The happy shepherds leave their homely huts,
And with their pipes proclaim the new-born day!
The lusty swain comes with his well-fill'd stoup
Of healthy viands, which, when hunger calls,
With much content and appetite he eats,
To follow in the field his daily toil,
And dress the grateful glebe that yields him fruits.
The beasts, that under the warm hedges slept,
And weather'd out the cold, bleak night, are up,
And, looking toward the neighbouring pastures, raise
Their voice, and bid their fellow-brutes good-morrow!
The cheerful birds, too, on the tops of trees,
Assemble all in choirs, and with their notes
Salute and
MOST glorious art thou! when from thy pavilion.
Thou lookest forth at morning; flinging wide
Its curtain clouds of purple and vermilion,
Dispensing life and light on every side;
Brightening the mountain cataract, dimly spied
Through glittering mist; opening each dew-gemm'd flower,
Or touching, in some hamlet, far descried,
Its spiral wreaths of smoke that upward tower,
While birds their matin sing from many a leafy bower.
And more magnificent art thou, bright Sun!
Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed:
Who that has seen thee thus, as I have done,
Can e'er forget the effulgent splendours spread
From thy emerging radiance? Upwards sped,
Even to the centre of the vaulted sky,
Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed
Hues indescribable-of gorgeous dye,
Making among the clouds mute glorious pageantry.
Then, then how beautiful across the deep
The lustre of thy orient path of light!
Onward, still onward, o'er the waves that leap
So lovelily, and show their crests of white,
The eye, unsated in its own despite,
Still up that vista gazes; till thy way
Over the waters seems a pathway bright
For holiest thoughts to travel, there to pay
Man's homage unto Him who bade thee "rule the Day."
INVITATION TO IZAAK WALTON.
WHILST in this cold and blustering clime, Where bleak winds howl and tempests roar,
We pass away the roughest time
Has been of many years before;
Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks
The chillest blasts our peace invade,
And by great rains our smallest brooks
Are almost navigable made;
Whilst all the ills are so improved
Of this dead quarter of the year,
That even you, so much beloved,
We would not now wish with us here:
In this estate, I say, it is
Some comfort to us to suppose
That in a better clime than this
You, our dear friend, have more repose
And some delight to me the while,
Though Nature now does weep in vain,
To think that I have seen her smile,
And haply may I do again.
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