Ode IV. to the Lark

Herald blyth of Morn, thy strain Grateful audience invites, Lo to tend thy matin rites Break I Sleep's bewitching chain. Now the park's amel I tread, Brushing from each waking flower Spangles of the dewy shower Eve with genial hands has spread.

And now with heedless steps I stray Along the woodland glade, And meditate my musing way Thro' brake and warbling shade. Of new mown hay the grateful steam Now rises on the gale; And chequed with many a shadowy gleam Wide waves the grassy dale.

Till the upland heath I gain, Where in russet amice drest Twilight walks the odorous waste Till day leave the eastern main. O'er the azure wave behold Where his burning galley sails; See the laughing sky he scales Clouds of crimson thro', and gold.

How pure the breath of heaven descends! What prospects rise around! From where yon western vale extends With groves and hamlets crowned, To yonder city's towery pride, That glitters in the sun, And where the Bass's dusky side Yon erring vessels shun.

Winding slow with easy sweep See the princely Forth pursue, By green plains and mountains blue, His bright progress to the deep. Wreaths of smoke the hut forsake: Faintly sounds the distant mill: Far beside yon northern hill Dimly shines a silver lake.

Ever, sweet minstrel, may thy song My due attendance gain, For to thy hour all charms belong Of Morn's enchanting reign. Here on the dawning heath to greet Thy kindred extacy O ever may my willing feet The power of Sloth deny.