 | The national jubilee, and other miscellaneous poems |  |
MORNING.
How sweet to wake in summer's morn,
Soon as appearing day is born,
And loose array'd, with reckless care,
Ramble, and drink the crystal air—
While cherubs ope the golden doors,
Through which th' impouring light restores
The slumbering world to life and bliss,
And all is free as happiness—
When blushing radiance from afar,
Comes dancing forth with morning star.
Soon as appearing day is born,
And loose array'd, with reckless care,
Ramble, and drink the crystal air—
While cherubs ope the golden doors,
Through which th' impouring light restores
The slumbering world to life and bliss,
And all is free as happiness—
When blushing radiance from afar,
Comes dancing forth with morning star.
The twilight just begins to show,
Softning the shades where cascades flow,
Th' inferior stars have shrunk away
Before the herald-beams of day.
But yet full many an holy one,
In beauty, like an infant sun,
Shines like a gem in emerald set
On heaven's cerulean parapet.
The moon beneath a star appears
Above the mountain, bath'd in tears,
Such as bright angels weep, when they
To heaven, a rescu'd soul convey:
She looks a bow of silver bent
To decorate the firmament.
The streams—the mirrors of the sky
Reflect the heavenly imagry.
Softning the shades where cascades flow,
Th' inferior stars have shrunk away
Before the herald-beams of day.
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In beauty, like an infant sun,
Shines like a gem in emerald set
On heaven's cerulean parapet.
The moon beneath a star appears
Above the mountain, bath'd in tears,
Such as bright angels weep, when they
To heaven, a rescu'd soul convey:
She looks a bow of silver bent
To decorate the firmament.
The streams—the mirrors of the sky
Reflect the heavenly imagry.
The scenery round, how soft, how still!
Emotions, pure as worship, fill
Th' expansive soul; th' adoring eye
Seems wrapp'd to view the Deity!
And hard, how hard to keep suppress'd
The thoughts sublime that crowd the breast—
So full the heart, the tongue would fain
Make glad, with anthem-songs, the plain.
Emotions, pure as worship, fill
Th' expansive soul; th' adoring eye
Seems wrapp'd to view the Deity!
And hard, how hard to keep suppress'd
The thoughts sublime that crowd the breast—
So full the heart, the tongue would fain
Make glad, with anthem-songs, the plain.
Harken! the voice of Chanticleer,
Has thrice proclaim'd the morning near.
The birds are twittering in the grove,
Each whispering each the pledge of love;
They shake their plumes—too long at rest,
On the same ash they build their nest;
The flexile bough, with cluster'd leaves,
A motion tremulous receives;
The dew, disturb'd on every stem,
In falling, shows a precious gem,
Resembling that in beauty's eye,
When love returns its soft reply.
Has thrice proclaim'd the morning near.
The birds are twittering in the grove,
Each whispering each the pledge of love;
They shake their plumes—too long at rest,
On the same ash they build their nest;
The flexile bough, with cluster'd leaves,
A motion tremulous receives;
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In falling, shows a precious gem,
Resembling that in beauty's eye,
When love returns its soft reply.
There is a sweetness in the air,
With which no incense can compare,
Save that which angels offer'd forth,
When first revolv'd the new-born earth:
Age breathes it—and is young again,
And wan disease forgets its pain!
The east is all a flame of gold!
The moon within a gorgeous fold
Of burnish'd cloud, has pass'd from view,
And all the train of stars withdrew.
How sweet the red-breast, linnets sing!
With mocking-birds the woodlands ring.
The joyous hills, the strains, prolong,
While the pure heavens seem rapt with song.
With which no incense can compare,
Save that which angels offer'd forth,
When first revolv'd the new-born earth:
Age breathes it—and is young again,
And wan disease forgets its pain!
The east is all a flame of gold!
The moon within a gorgeous fold
Of burnish'd cloud, has pass'd from view,
And all the train of stars withdrew.
How sweet the red-breast, linnets sing!
With mocking-birds the woodlands ring.
The joyous hills, the strains, prolong,
While the pure heavens seem rapt with song.
The bees are up at blush of morn,
To gather honey from the thorn—
From violets sprinkled o'er the fields—
From every bud the valley yields.
To gather honey from the thorn—
From violets sprinkled o'er the fields—
From every bud the valley yields.
And humming bird, in orchard bowers,
With sugar kiss, the salutes the flowers—
Sips the aromal dew from this,
And then, like hope on wings of bliss,
Glides to another opening bloom,
But never tires with wearied plume,
As though the flower would stain its breast
If on its petals, it should rest.
With sugar kiss, the salutes the flowers—
Sips the aromal dew from this,
And then, like hope on wings of bliss,
Glides to another opening bloom,
But never tires with wearied plume,
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If on its petals, it should rest.
The village smoke is seen to rise
With easy curl toward the skies—
Others in quick succession show,
Resembling waves in gentle flow:
They move unbroken in their height
Until they meet the advancing light,
Which, mingling with the columns, brown,
Adorns them with a golden crown,
And then, they break—are seen no more,
Like beauty, when its charms are o'er.
With easy curl toward the skies—
Others in quick succession show,
Resembling waves in gentle flow:
They move unbroken in their height
Until they meet the advancing light,
Which, mingling with the columns, brown,
Adorns them with a golden crown,
And then, they break—are seen no more,
Like beauty, when its charms are o'er.
The vale is half with mist conceal'd
From dew of sweetest flowers, exhal'd.
It hangs in equal poise between
The forest and the meadow green.
The tallest trees are tip'd with light,
While all below is veil'd from sight
By silvery spray, which, like a wreath,
Embraces soft their trunks beneath.
Mix'd are the hills and mist so rare,
It seems voluptuous nature there,
Had, with nice art, combin'd to show
A spot of heaven on earth below.
From dew of sweetest flowers, exhal'd.
It hangs in equal poise between
The forest and the meadow green.
The tallest trees are tip'd with light,
While all below is veil'd from sight
By silvery spray, which, like a wreath,
Embraces soft their trunks beneath.
Mix'd are the hills and mist so rare,
It seems voluptuous nature there,
Had, with nice art, combin'd to show
A spot of heaven on earth below.
Now glows the sun, the type of Him,
Who wears creation's diadem!
Who wears creation's diadem!
Forth is the active day begun,
As different inclinations run:
The hammer jars—the trowel rings—
Swift o'er his course the post-boy wings—
The echo of the anvil sounds—
The wagon down the rough path bounds—
The buckets loosen'd from the curb,
The waters of the well, disturb;
The fountains, rising at the call,
With sudden gush in cascade fall.
The rattling chain of plough-man's geer—
The calling to his yoke, the steer—
The cowherd's whistle echoing far,
The clattering of the falling bar—
The loose-rob'd urchins' laugh and cry,
Wrangling, and pleased, and know not why,
All in wild concert fill the air,
And show that busy man is there.
As different inclinations run:
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Swift o'er his course the post-boy wings—
The echo of the anvil sounds—
The wagon down the rough path bounds—
The buckets loosen'd from the curb,
The waters of the well, disturb;
The fountains, rising at the call,
With sudden gush in cascade fall.
The rattling chain of plough-man's geer—
The calling to his yoke, the steer—
The cowherd's whistle echoing far,
The clattering of the falling bar—
The loose-rob'd urchins' laugh and cry,
Wrangling, and pleased, and know not why,
All in wild concert fill the air,
And show that busy man is there.
The scene delights without alloy,
Yielding the soul the purest joy—
Gives to the heart an equal play,
And puts far off the aged day:
Yes, Age himself, in smiles is seen,
With cheek of health and eye serene:
And when we urge him to declare,
Why he retains his youthful air,
His ready answer brief is said—
The shunning of the sluggard's bed,
And up, and greet the early morn,
When nature new with life is born.
Yielding the soul the purest joy—
Gives to the heart an equal play,
And puts far off the aged day:
Yes, Age himself, in smiles is seen,
With cheek of health and eye serene:
And when we urge him to declare,
Why he retains his youthful air,
His ready answer brief is said—
The shunning of the sluggard's bed,
And up, and greet the early morn,
When nature new with life is born.
| The national jubilee, and other miscellaneous poems | |