UT who the melodies of Morn can tell?
The wild brook babbling down the mountain
side;
The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell:
The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
In the lone valley, echoing far and wide!
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings:
Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs;
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower,
And shrill lark carols clear from her ærial tower.
WELCOME, bat and owlet grey,
Thus winging low your airy way;
And welcome, moth and drowsy fly,
That to mine ear come humming by ;
And welcome, shadows long and deep,
And stars that from the blue sky peep;
Oh, welcome all! to me ye say,
My woodland love is on her way;
Upon the swift winds float her hair,
Her breath is in the dewy air,