Poetry: The Morning Light

Thou checrful niornins Jight! How thro' my lattice Btreani6 thy wclcomerayl Thou mild precursor of the perfect day, Dmpeller of the niglit! AVho oves thy gcntle benm? Not hcwhose hours are pnsscd in revelry, Not he who wakes to no renlity So bliBoful as to drenm. He who forgets his care jienenth the wing of sonl-entrancing sleep, Thinks 'he 3tar-senline!s, that nightly keep Their wntchabove the air - More lovely Far than thuu - For on the enrth alone ihey seem to gaze, But through the curtainsthy obtrusive rays Fall on his anxious hro'.v. Yet mnny love thee well. The sailor. tossed on the unquietsea, With deeper transport turns and blesses thee, Than word of mine can teil. For on the distant rim Of the Iree waters mcllowing in thy smile, He eees the faint line of his naltve isle, Riscshadowy and dim. The happy sportive child. Slumbering eince evening 'wiliglit on his bed. Joys to behold the morning swectly ehed Jis radiance soit and mild. Tlx .w,;,l„„ iviih nnre cheek, Touched only by the chaste and rosy gale, Dcliglits to see, as iove's young visiona fuil, Thy bcam her eyclids seek. And he who at the shrine Of glorious nature worsliips, when the glow Of carly sunrise resta on things below, Deerns thy first ray divine. Even I. who thus beguile Tliis dawninghour wiili tho'ts serenely bright. Forthis do love thee, checrful morning light; Thou seem'st creation's smile!