I print long traces o’er the plain,
And bend my eyes to yon bright east
To meet the Morning’s radiant guest,
As o’er the hill his golden rays
Burst thro’ the thicket in a blaze.
Now from my foot the startled fawn
Bounds to its parent on the lawn;
And the wak’d lark exulting springs,
Hangs high in air on quivering wings,
Chaunts his loud transports o’er the heath,