Fresh rustles the morning's enlivening breeze:
The newly-born light through the gloom of the trees
Right rosily peeps; through the bushes it shines,
And winks in the glades of the sorrowful pines.
The cloud-capped mountains raise
Their heads in golden blaze.
In happy, melodious, twittering tone
The awakening larks pay their court to the Sun,
As he smilingly rises with juvenile grace,
Aglow with the thrill of Aurora's embrace.

Ah! blessed ye beams,
Whose irradiance streams
In cherishing warmth over pasture and plain.
What a silvery tint
On the fields as they glint
Like thousands of suns from the dew-drops again!

In the genial shade,
Like a frolicsome maid,
Young nature is caught at her play.
The breeze interposes,
And coaxes the roses,
And sprinkles an odorous balm on its way.

Tall curtains of smoke o'er the cities are wreathing;
And neighing and snorting and stamping and breathing
Come horses and kine:
The wagons incline
Towards the billowy vale.
To life the wood springs;
Hawk, falcon and eagle unfetter their wings,
And balance and poise in the beams as they sail.

Ah! where may I hope
For repose, as I grope
And totter along in despair?
The world may be glad,
But my heart remains sad,
For 'tis only a grave which is there.

Arise, thou rosy morning light, and tinge
With purple kiss the wooded plain unfurled;
And may the blush of gentle even fringe
The peaceful slumbers of the dying world.
Morning! alas, thy gilded hue
O'er a death-haunted prospect glows,
And rays of evening but bedew
My everlasting deep repose.