Classic Poem

Morn ' orient beams appear, and one by one,
The weary stars, retiring from their watch,
Quench their bright lamps, and dimly sink to rest.
Blushing Aurora hides before the Sun,
Who yonder comes, upon his fiery car,
To ride his daily circuit through the sky,
Dispensing to the nations life and light.
A flood of glory show'rs upon the peaks
Of lofty mountains; bursts upon the plains;
Tinges with burnish'd gold the distant clouds,
That seem his shady canopy; and lights
His pathway up the heavens. Nature awakes
From drowsy slumber, active and refresh'd;
And air and earth are fill'd with animation.
The lowing herd disperse upon the mead;
The insect myriads murmur forth their joy;
And thousand songsters warble in the grove
Their notes melodious. A brighter green
Enrobes the foliage, glittering with dew,
And lightens up the landscape. Risen with the sun,
The cheerful ploughman yokes his patient team;
And while the fresh turned furrow stripes the soil,
Thinks of his distant harvest. Loudest now
Rings the gay anvil with redoubled blows;
Not amid gloom, as when in Etna's caves
The giant Cyclops forged the living thunder.
How glorious thus at morn to walk abroad,
Inhaling perfume, breathing the fresh air,
Listening to melody; while all around,
We view, delighted, nature's lovely works,
In mountain, plain or stream, in earth and sky!
Still more delightful, when with beauty's self,
Creation's last, and best, and fairest work,
We hold sweet converse on our heedless walk!