Some humble bliss remains;—
Then, let thy murmurings cease to flow,
And hush thy doleful strains."
It is the dawn. Faint crimson streaks
The dewy, orient sky,
Like virtue's blush, on maiden cheeks,
Ah! sweet and peerless dye.
At last—the sun, an Eastern king,
Comes forth in rested pride;
And soars, with bright and burning wing,