Classic Poem

The purple morn o'erspread the sky,
The day-star shew'd his head;
A reverend ruin nodded nigh,
With waters round it spread.
The bird of night had ceas'd her tale,
And, fluttering, fled from me:
As softly sigh'd the morning gale,
Along the banks of Dee.
As softly sigh'd, &c.

The bended lilies lin'd the banks
Around the fishes bed;
And trees in gay and motely ranks,
Slop'd out the flow'ry glade.
The glossy blackbird on the bough,
Sung to his mate with glee;
And join'd the lark, yet wet with dew,
Upon the banks of Dee.
And join'd the lark, &c.

Here rustic labour wets his scythe,
And sets his edge with care;
The humming wild-bee leaves his hive,
To sip the flow'rets fair.
The merry milkmaid gayly sang —
Her bosom light and free; —
While list'ning echoes join'd alang,
The winding banks of Dee.
While list'ning, &c.

Here, too, Dame Nature's handmaid, Art,
Had rear'd her arches grand,
Of bridges rare beyond compare,
On noblest Doric plan.
The shielded mansion half I view'd,
That pleas'd the passing e'e;
And clust'ring villages were strew'd,
Along the banks of Dee.
And clust'ring, &c.

Peace to your scenes my native plains,
Where plenty ever spreads!
May truth and honour crown your swains,
And beauty grace your maids!
Let rural mirth and pity's sigh,
Still in your breasts agree;
And fellow-feeling still be nigh,
Around the banks of Dee.
And fellow, &c.