RISE, Sons of harmony, and hail the morn,
While warbling larks on russet pinions float:
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,
Where the grey linnets carol from the hill.
Oh, let them ne'er, with artificial note,

To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,

But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will.

WHEN o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey,

And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn;
Far to the west, the long, long vale withdrawn,
Where twilight loves to linger for a while.

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,
Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;
Each season looked delightful as it passed,

To the fond husband and the faithful wife.

WHERE the maze of some bewildered stream To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led; There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.