Thy journey is across the waves, And thou may'st rest in ocean caves, Is looked for by the glad and gay, Our prayers for thee ascend on high,— And may the memory never die Of what this hour we feel. Farewell, farewell!-thy course is bright; Or suffer from the poisonous blight Ode to Morning, Written at a period of unusual depression. Hail Morning, garbed in yellowness! Nor show again thy darksome head! But let the Sun with golden mellowness Tinge all the azure plain; And stamp with light the fields of corn, Hail Morning, pregnant with delight To victor enemy, To captives loosed, to monarchs gem-attire To youths whose long minority's expired, To forest beasts that roam, And now reseek their home, Burthened with spoil, To feathered tribes that warble now, To deers that leap the mountain's brow, And crop the soil, To all the world but me! Lo, Phœbus his diurnal course retakes! Look, look, he rises from the sea, How like a robed divinity What rapid strides he makes! The other planets skulk and hide themselves F When he appears, And all the numerous train, Of stars attending Cynthia in her wane, And vanish like a band of winged elves. See as he peeps from out his wavy couch, With lightsome spring The larks take wing, And up towards heaven soar; And as they fly Along the sky, The ærial elements they skim While warbling forth their matin hymn,The prowling fox doth to his burrow crouch; And drowsy herdsmen sleep no more. Welcome Aurora ! Thou that bringest life and health, Blushing with ruby smiles of joy, Glad it receives ; From every mountain peak The lively squirrel seems to speak; From every tree, With heartfelt glee, The speckled thrush without alloy Its 'livening sonnet gives; And charmeth with its song the listening crowd, While of its honey'd tones it waxeth proud; And higher on the tree, Where its sweet notes are heard more loud, It percheth, and is listened to with pleasure, As it sounds forth, bright sun, thy praise In its extatic lays; While gladness is enveloped in each measureGladness to all but me. I sit upon this lofty brow, From sea to lake-from lake to solid ground; My happy moments hence are fled, My gladness is for ever checked, Nature no longer hath the charms for me My mind with melancholy thoughts is filled.. The Exile's Happy Hour. The morn, the morn, the beautiful morn, The noon, the noon, the glorious hour, The eve, the genial eventide, When the fanning zephyrs play ; But morn, and noon, and stilly eve, Are the same to the exiled slave; In secret silence his heart doth grieve But the night, the night, the clear calm night, And the meteors flash so wild and bright Then balmy sleep, with her magic wand, And he visits again his native land In the dream,-sleep's mystery! |