Day, a Pastoral (1814)/Morning
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MORNING.
DAY,
A PASTORAL.
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In the barn the tenant cock,
Close to partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!)
Jocund that the morning's nigh.
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Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by Night, retire,
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village spire.
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Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.
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From the low-roof'd cottage ridge
See the chatt'ring swallow spring;
Darting thro' the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick she dips her dappled wing.
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Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale!
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daisies in the dewy vale.
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From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done)
Now the busy bee's employ'd
Sipping dew before the sun.
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Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.
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Colin for the promis'd corn,
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe)
Anxious hears the huntsman's horn,
Boldly sounding, drown his pipe.
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Sweet, O sweet, the warbling throng
On the white emblossom'd spray!
Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising day.