 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
VII.
Now morning rose upon the sky,
The waters and the winds were still;
Peace ruled each quiet cottage nigh,
Each valley, grove, and hill.
The mists along the lake lay sleeping,
The dews still prest each blade of grass,
The idle brooks their notes of weeping
Chant dolefully as on they pass.
In the clear waters calmly lie
All shadows of rock, flower, and tree;
The clouds unto their pastures fly,
And the coral depths are free.
What though sweet love of human life
Rejoices not that crystal deep,—
No brooding care, no clanging strife,
Disturbs the heavenly sleep?
Those cottages, the sportive glee
Of children, by the green hill side,
In the clear waves are mirror'd free,
As down the depths they glide.
The waters and the winds were still;
Peace ruled each quiet cottage nigh,
Each valley, grove, and hill.
The mists along the lake lay sleeping,
The dews still prest each blade of grass,
The idle brooks their notes of weeping
Chant dolefully as on they pass.
In the clear waters calmly lie
All shadows of rock, flower, and tree;
The clouds unto their pastures fly,
And the coral depths are free.
What though sweet love of human life
Rejoices not that crystal deep,—
No brooding care, no clanging strife,
Disturbs the heavenly sleep?
Those cottages, the sportive glee
Of children, by the green hill side,
In the clear waves are mirror'd free,
As down the depths they glide.
Rejoice, ye glorious scenes, rejoice!
That not in vain your murmurs sound;
That not in vain ye bear a voice
Of power that girds us round.
Ye have no eye, nor tongue of fear—
Not vainly glows your summer dress;
The stars behold ye in their sphere,
And the moon loves your forms to bless
Far in their pearly wilderness.
That not in vain your murmurs sound;
11
Of power that girds us round.
Ye have no eye, nor tongue of fear—
Not vainly glows your summer dress;
The stars behold ye in their sphere,
And the moon loves your forms to bless
Far in their pearly wilderness.
Lo! the soft echoes waken round
Of bleating lamb, and shepherd boy:
From all the earth leaps forth the sound
Of merriment and joy!
Exultant from the dust starts up
A spirit of the heavenly air—
The lark, to swell her daily cup
Of offering to the morn's young star.
A thousand myriad hymns I hear,
Of voice and echo, at heaven's gate;
Glory seraphic sounds within mine ear—
Oh, never can it sate!
Glad choristers, that fragrantly do go
Out from the yellow broom, singing so sweet;
How do I bless you for the strains that flow
Of love and joy from your aërial seat!
Again! oh, yet again! that dulcet shower,
Which through the azure deeps ye thus profusely pour!
Of bleating lamb, and shepherd boy:
From all the earth leaps forth the sound
Of merriment and joy!
Exultant from the dust starts up
A spirit of the heavenly air—
The lark, to swell her daily cup
Of offering to the morn's young star.
A thousand myriad hymns I hear,
Of voice and echo, at heaven's gate;
Glory seraphic sounds within mine ear—
Oh, never can it sate!
Glad choristers, that fragrantly do go
Out from the yellow broom, singing so sweet;
How do I bless you for the strains that flow
Of love and joy from your aërial seat!
Again! oh, yet again! that dulcet shower,
Which through the azure deeps ye thus profusely pour!
| The bard, and minor poems | |