At five on a dewy morning,
Before the blazing day,
To be up and off on a high-mettled horse
Over the hills away.—
To drink the rich, sweet breath of the gorse,
And bathe in the breeze of the Downs,
Ha! man, if you can, match bliss like this
In all the joys of towns!

With glad and grateful tongue to join
The lark at his matin-hymn,
And thence on faith's own wing to spring,
And sing with cherubim!
To pray from a deep and tender heart,
With all things praying anew,
The birds and the bees, and the whispering trees,
And heather bedropt with dew—
To be one with those early worshippers,
And pour the pæan too!

Then off again with a slackened rein,
And a bounding heart within,
To dash at a gallop over the plain,
Health's golden cup to win!
This, this is the race for gain and grace,
Richer than vases and crowns;
And you that boast your pleasures the most
Amid the steam of towns,
Come taste true bliss in a morning like this,
Galloping over the Downs!