Up from his orient star-gemmed couch the sun, revived, arose,
And as beseemed a guardian true, his searching glance he throws
On all those scenes that court his care—stream, woodland, hill, and plain,
The first at morn to fix his look, the last at daylight's wane.
As lighted up his glowing face, his glance more warmly fell
Adown that scene where, scanning close, he saw that all was well;
And when at eve his parting rays give place to glimmering stars.
No sign he marks to dull his eye, no shade his gladness mars.