MORNING MELODIES.
But 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;
Crown’d with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings;
The whistling plowman stalks afield; and hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon 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.
James Beattie, 1735–1803.