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6
DAY, A PASTORAL
Morning.—The rising Sun.
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by Night, retire,
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village spire.
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by Night, retire,
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village spire.