At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing,
’Tis morning prompts the linnet’s[85] blithest lay,
All Nature’s children feel the matin[86] spring
Of life reviving, with reviving day;
And while yon little bark glides down the bay,
Wafting the stranger on his way again,
Morn’s genial influence roused a minstrel gray,
And sweetly o’er the lake was heard thy strain,
Mix’d with the sounding harp, O white-hair’d Allan-Bane![87]