Swift through the yielding air I glide,
While nights sable shades abide:
Yet in my flight (though ne'er so fast)
I Tune and Time the wilde winds blast:
And ere the Sun be come about,
Teach the young Lark his Lesson out;
Who early as the Day is born
Sings his shrill Anthem to the rising Morn:
Let never Mortal lose the pains
To imitate my Aiery strains,
Whose pitch too high for humane Ears,
Was set me by the tuneful Spheres.
I carol to the Fairies King,
Wake him a-mornings when I sing:
And when the Sun stoops to the deep,
Rock him again and his fair Queen asleep.