Morning
In sullen silence to her ancient home,
Where close shut up she doses all day long,
The hermit owl slow takes her gloomy way,
And frets and grudges at th' approach of day.
The bat, the busiest of the midnight train
That wing the air or sulky tread the plain,
Sees Morning open on each field and bower,
And ends her mazes in yon ruin'd tower.
Now is the time, while joy and song prevail,
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flowery dale;
To climb the height of some hill's airy brow,
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below;
Where some clear brook winds in the vale profound,
And rich the landscape spreads immense around;
While under-foot gay crimson'd daisies peep,
And shepherds' clubs hang nodding o'er the steep;
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclined,
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind,
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly,
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky,
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt'ring glow,
Which wealth or indolence can ne'er bestow.
Let boisterous drunkards at th' approach of day,
In staggering herds forth from the tavern stray,
Stand belching oaths and nauseous streams of wine,
Less men resembling, than the grovelling swine.
The cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred,
His be the privilege to snore in bed,
No knowledge gaining from the changing skies,
But just his bed-time and his time to rise.
Mine be the bliss to hail the purpling dawn,
To mark the dew-drops glittering o'er the lawn:
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song;
Or wandering thoughtful near the bubbling stream,
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam;
Each gives a joy, an inward reigning bliss,
Pen can't describe, nor labouring tongue express.
O thou dread Power! thou Architect divine!
Who bids these seasons roll—those myriads shine;
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe,
Whose frown shakes terror o'er th' astonish'd globe;
To thee I kneel; still deign to be a friend,
Accept my praise, and pardon where I've sinn'd;
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow,
To see thy goodness in thy works below;
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene,
Or golden Day beams o'er the blooming plain,
Or dewy Evening cheers, while Philo. sings,
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings;
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood,
Or maddening tempests bend the roaring wood,
Rejoiced, adoring, I may view the change,
And while on Fancy's airy plumes I range,
Collect calm Reason, awe-struck eye their ways,
And join the chorus, since they sound thy praise.