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299

THE MATIN CAROL.

I

The splendid matin sun
Is mounting upward through the orient skies;
The young day is begun,
And shadowy twilight from the landscape flies.

II

No more the grey owls roam,
Seeking their prey 'mid duskiness and shade;
The bat hath hied him home,
And in some creviced pile a resting made.

III

Haste, then, my love, O! haste;
The dews are melting from the fresh green grass:
Arise—no longer waste
The pleasant hours that thus so sweetly pass.
300

IV

The frolic hare peeps out,
Out from her leafy covert, and looks round;
The wild birds flit about,
And fill the clear soft air with gentlest sound.

V

Come, love! of softest blue,
Beneath the bordering trees, the stream flows on;
The night-hawk thou may'st view,
Sitting in stirless silence on his stone.

VI

The lark soars up, soars up,
With twinkling pinions to salute the morn;
Over its foxglove cup
The wild bee hangs, winding its tiny horn.

VII

Bright flowers of every dye,
Blossoms of odours sweet are breathing round;
The west wind wanders by,
And, kissing, bends their lithe stalks to the ground.

VIII

All things of bliss, and love,
And gentleness, and harmony proclaim;
Echo, from out the grove,
Murmurs, as I repeat thy dear-loved name.
301

IX

Haste, then, beloved, haste;
Come to these cooling shades, and wander free:
My spirit will not taste
Earth's cup of joy till first 'tis kiss'd by thee!
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