STANZAS TO THE SPIRIT OF MORNING.

Angel of morn! whose beauteous home

In light's unfading fountain lies;

Whose smiles dispel night's sable gloom,

And fill with splendour earth and skies,

While o'er the horizon pure and pale,

Thy beams are dawning, thee I hail.

The star that watches, pure and lone,

In yon clear heaven so silently,

Looks trembling from its azure throne

Upon thy beaming glories nigh;

And yields to thee first-born of day,

Reluctantly its heavenly sway.

Sweet spirit, with that early ray,

Which steals so softly through the gloom,

Trembling and brightening in its way,

What beauties o'er creation come;

Ere thy unclouded smiles arise

In all their splendour through the skies.

The rosy cloud—the azure sky,

Earth—ocean, with its heaving breast,

Where thy bright hues reflected lie,

And there in varying beauty rest,

Rejoice in thee; and from the grove,

To hail thee, bursts the voice of love.

Eternal beauty round thee dwells,

And joy thine early steps attends,

While music wildly breathing swells,

And with thy gales of perfume blends:

Pure, beautiful you smile above,

Like youth's fond dreams of hope and love.

Thy skies of blue, thy beaming light,

Thy gales so balmy, wild, and free,

Thy lustre on the mountain's height,

Have charms beyond all else for me;

Whilst my glad spirit fain would rise

To hail and meet thee in the skies.

SYLVA.