Classic Poem

'T is morning, and all is gay around;—
The sunbeam flames on the billow,
And sparkles along the dewy ground,
While I'm dreaming on my pillow;
The music that breathes cannot bid me wake,
Though like siren melody closing,
While slumber's soft wings all their opiates shake
O'er the couch, where I 'm reposing.
But Nature wears her loveliest smile,
The smile of her maiden beauty,
And while she invites by the softest wile,
I hear the loud call of duty:
Then I'll sleep not beneath the morning's beam,
That smiles like affection upon me,
Nor longer lie wrapt in slumber's dream,
Though she shower all her roses on me.

It is sweeter to breathe the balmy breeze
Than to dream of the brightest vision;
And dearer to view the wide-waving trees
Than fancy's scenes Elysian:
Though the one every hue of loveliness wears,
Though like bloomy Eden charming,
Yet she leaves us too soon to think of our cares,
While her softness the heart is disarming:
O, who would be happy in fancy alone,
When reality's self can delight us,
Or be charmed with a smile, that is instantly flown,
When long-living beauties invite us?
Then I'll sleep not, &c.

How oft in my childhood's lovely days,
When I woke with the lark from my slumbers,
I loved the sun's first-brightening rays,
And the warbler's waking numbers;
And while each dewy bush and brake
Was vocal with sounds of gladness,
And while the sun glowed on the lake,
How could I be sunk in sadness!
O, in morning's earliest, brightest dawn,
There are charms more sweetly smiling,
Than in dearest scenes by Fancy drawn,
Though like beauty's self, beguiling!
Then I'll sleep not, &c.

Now the birds are singing their amorous notes
Amid the boughs wide-waving;
And the whispered sigh of the zephyr floats
Where the brooks their banks are laving;
And now is the time, when all is bright,
And in softest peace reposing,
To kindle affection's purest light,
Where the sprays of the bower are closing;
Then love will burn with a brighter ray,
And smile with a glance more tender,
And dearer charms on his features play,
While our hearts to his sway we render.
Then I'll sleep not beneath the morning's beam,
That smiles like affection upon me,
Nor longer lie wrapt in slumber's dream,
Though she shower all her roses on me.