MORNING.

That stream in blithe succession from the throats

Of birds, in leafy bower,

Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.

-There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,

That burns for Poets in the dawning east ;
And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
But He who fixed immovably the frame
Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,
A solid refuge for distress-

The towers of righteousness;

He knows that from a holier altar came

The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;
Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise
The current of this matin song;

That deeper far it lies

Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.

WORDSWORTH.

ΙΣ

12

THE SABBATH MORN.

THE SABBATH MORN.

WOW still the morning of the hallowed day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath

Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloomed waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear,—the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,

The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles with heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,

The voice of psalms,-the simple song of praise.

With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon Village broods:
The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din

Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness.

Less fearful on this day, the limping hare

Stops and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;

And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,

His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray.

GRAHAME.

MATIN SONG.

MORNING.

ULL many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy,
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,

Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.

SHAKESPEARE.

MATIN SONG.

HE day's wan light breaks fair and far,
The wave is restless on the stream;
Dallying with the morning star,

It rocks the slight and silvery beam.

Freshly the heart of day is breathing;
The wild-flower trembles for the bee:
On ocean's cheek a smile is wreathing,
Tenderly and merrily!

The skylark leaves its nest,

With pearls upon its breast;

From its nested sedge the crownèd swan glides slow,
And forth into the morning, like the light doth go!

REYNOLDS.

13

14

DAY-SPRING.

MATIN SONG.

ARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;

With everything that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise!

Arise! arise!

SHAKESPEARE.

DAY-SPRING.

OR loe! the world's great Shepheard here is borne,
A blessed babe, an infant full of power:
After long night, uprisen is the morne,

Renowning Bethlehem in the Saviour.
Sprung is the perfect day,

By prophets seene afarre :

Sprung is the mirthfull May,

Which winter cannot marre.

In David's citie doth this Sunne appeare,

Clouded in flesh: yet shepheards sit we here.

EDMUND BOLTON.