With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still!
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne;
A graver murmur gurgles from the rill;
And echo answers softer from the hill;
And sweeter sings the linnet from the thorn:...
|
Up! quit thy bower! late wears the hour, Up, maiden fair!... |
In the barn the tenant cock, Swiftly from the mountain’s brow, |
From “The Minstrel” |
From “The Winter Morning Walk:” “The Task,” Bk. V. ’T IS the morning, and the sun with ruddy orb |