 | Poems by Two Brothers |  |
61
HUNTSMAN'S SONG
“Who the melodies of morn can tell?”
Beattie.
Oh! what is so sweet as a morning in spring,
When the gale is all freshness, and larks, on the wing,
In clear liquid carols their gratitude sing?
When the gale is all freshness, and larks, on the wing,
In clear liquid carols their gratitude sing?
I rove o'er the hill as it sparkles with dew,
And the red flush of Phœbus with ecstacy view,
As he breaks thro' the east o'er thy crags, Benvenue!
And the red flush of Phœbus with ecstacy view,
As he breaks thro' the east o'er thy crags, Benvenue!
And boldly I bound o'er the mountainous scene,
Like the roe which I hunt thro' the woodlands so green,
Or the torrent which leaps from the height to the plain.
Like the roe which I hunt thro' the woodlands so green,
Or the torrent which leaps from the height to the plain.
The life of the hunter is chainless and gay,
As the wing of the falcon that wins him his prey;
No song is so glad as his blithe roundelay.
As the wing of the falcon that wins him his prey;
No song is so glad as his blithe roundelay.
62
His eyes in soft arbours the Moslem may close,
And Fayoum's rich odours may breathe from the rose,
To scent his bright harem and lull his repose:
And Fayoum's rich odours may breathe from the rose,
To scent his bright harem and lull his repose:
Th' Italian may vaunt of his sweet harmony,
And mingle soft sounds of voluptuous glee;
But the lark's airy music is sweeter to me.
And mingle soft sounds of voluptuous glee;
But the lark's airy music is sweeter to me.
Then happy the man who up-springs with the morn,
But not from a couch of effeminate lawn,
And slings o'er his shoulder his loud bugle-horn!
But not from a couch of effeminate lawn,
And slings o'er his shoulder his loud bugle-horn!
C. T.
| Poems by Two Brothers | |