Ii

'Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour, All nature seems to hear me while I speak, By feelings urged that do not vainly seek Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes That stream in blithe succession from the throats Of birds, in leafy bower, Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower. --There is a radiant though a short-lived flame, That burns for Poets in the dawning east; And oft my soul hath kindled at the same, When the captivity of sleep had ceased; But He who fixed immoveably the frame Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong, A solid refuge for distress-- The towers of righteousness; He knows that from a holier altar came The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice; Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise The current of this matin song; That deeper far it lies Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.