Song XXVII. Reflections at Day Break

I GAZE from the brow of the steep, On the town, on the landscape serene; How many this hour are asleep. How alike are the great and the mean.

The place for their heads to repose, A stone or a pillow suppsies; They've put off their care with their cloaths, And shut out the world with their eyes.

Reclin'd on the tapestry bed, The rich has forgotten his store; The beggar asleep in the shed, Remembers his mis'ry no more.

Alike in forgetfulness drown'd, Enwrap'd in the mantle of night; Say, whose are the slumbers profound, Say, whose are the dreams of delight.

Perhaps to its occupart's dream (For fancy o'er truth can prevail) The hovel a hotel may seem, The hotel transform'd to a jail.

Anon they shall wake from their sleep, And the sun and their sorrow behold; Why wake ye to get or to keep! Or to feel that ye're hungry and cold

Then lie down and slumber again; Ere the day light appear'd I arose— I shall see nought but sorrow and pain, And again I return to repose.