18. Ah, let the gay the roseate morning hail,
When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
She bids fresh beauty live along the vale,
And rapture tremble in the vocal shade.
Sweet is the lucid morning's opening flower,
Her choral melodies benignly rise;
Yet dearer to your soul the shadowy hour
At which her blossoms close, her music dies.
Miss H. M. Williams.
19. The middle watch of a summer's night,