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Hollo My Fancy.
Hollo, my Fancy! Thou art free—
Nor bolt nor shackle fetters thee!
Thy prison door is cleft in twain,
And Nature claims her child again;
Doff the base weeds of toil and strife,
And hail the world's returning life!
Up and away! 'Tis Nature's voice
Bids thee hie field ward and rejoice;
She calls thee from unhallowed mirth
To walk with beauty o'er the earth;
Proudly she calls thee forth, and now
Prints blandest kisses on thy brow;
On lip, on cheek, on bosom bare,
She pours the balmy morning air:
The fulness of a mother's breast
Swells for thee in this gracious hour;
Up, Sluggard, up! from dreams unblest,
And let thy heart its love outpour!
