Morning

Now rosy morning clad in light, Dispels the darkling clouds of night, The sun in gold and purple drest, Illumines all adown the east; The sky-lark flies on soaring wings, And as he mounts to heav'n, thus sings; "Arise, ye slothful mortals, rise! See me ascending to the skies: Ye never taste the joys of dawn, Ye never roam the dewy lawn, Ye see not Phœbus rising now, Tinging with gold the mountain's brow; Ye ne'er remark the smiling land, Nor see the early flowers expand. Then rise ye slothful mortals, rise, See, I am mounting to the skies."