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;

Crown'd 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, astonish'd, springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour

The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tour.

MORNING WALK.

Beattie.

HE morning hath not lost her virgin blush,
Nor step, but mine, soil'd the earth's tinsell'd robe.
How full of heaven this solitude appears-

This healthful comfort of the happy swain,

Who from his hard but peaceful bed roused up,

In morning's exercise saluted is

By a full choir of feather'd choristers,

Wedding their notes to the enamour'd air!

There Nature, in her unaffected dress,

Plaited with valleys, and emboss'd with hills,

Enlaced with silver streams, and fringed with woods,

Sits lovely in her native russet.

Chamberlayne.

A SUMMER MORNING.

ND soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of

dews,

At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ;
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening

glow,

And from before the lustre of her face

White break the clouds away: With

quicken'd step,

Brown Night retires: young Day pours

in apace,

And opens all the lawny prospect wide.

The dripping rock, the mountain's misty

top,

Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.

Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine;

And from the bladed field the fearful hare

Limps, awkward: while along the forest glade
The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze

At early passenger. Music awakes

The native voice of undissembled joy;

And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves
His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells;
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day,
Rejoicing in the east! The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow,
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach

Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all,
Aslant the dew-bright earth and colour'd air,

He looks in boundless majesty abroad;

And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, High-gleaming from afar.

MORNING.

Thomson.

T was a lovely Morning;-all was calm,
As if Creation, thankful for repose,
In renovated beauty, breathing balm
And blessedness around, from slumber

rose;

Joyful once more to see the East unclose

Its gates of glory :-yet subdued and

mild,

Like the soft smile of Patience, amid woes

By Hope and Resignation reconciled,

That Morning's beauty shone, that landscape's charm beguiled.

The heavens were mark'd by many a filmy streak,
Even in the orient; and the Sun shone through
Those lines, as Hope upon a mourner's cheek
Sheds, meekly chasten'd, her delightful hue.
From groves and meadows, all empearl'd with dew,
Rose silvery mists,-no eddying wind swept by,-
The cottage chimneys, half conceal'd from view
By their embowering foliage, sent on high
Their pallid wreaths of smoke, unruffled to the sky.

And every gentle sound which broke the hush
Of Morning's still serenity, was sweet:
The sky-lark overhead; the speckled thrush,
Who now had taken with delight his seat
Upon the slender larch, the day to greet;
The starling, chattering to her callow young;
And that monotonous lay, which seems to fleet
Like echo through the air, the cuckoo's song,
Was heard at times far off the leafy woods among.

Barton.

MORNING.

WIFTLY from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nursed by Night, retire;

And the peeping sunbeam now
Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the Morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chattering swallow spring:
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top

Gently greets the Morning gale:

Kidlings now begin to crop

Daisies in the dewy dale.