Classic Poem

I.

C hild of the L ight , fair morning hour,
Who smilest o'er yon purple hill,
I come to woo thy cheering power,
Beside this murmuring rill.
Nor I alone: a thousand songsters rise,
To meet thy dawning, and thy sweets to share,
While every flower that scents the honied air,
Thy milder influence feels, and shews the brighte

II.

And let me hear some village swain
Whistle in rustic glee along;
Or share some true love's tender pain,
Breathed from the milk-maid's song.
Wild are those notes, but sweeter far to me,
Than the soft airs, borne from Italian groves,
To which the wanton Muse, and naked Loves,
Strike the wild warbling lyre, and dance in gamesome glee.

III.

And H ealth , the child of blooming fire,
Shall trip along on nimble feet,
With airy mien, and loose attire,
Me on the plain to meet:
Gay laughing nymph, that loves a morning sky,
That loves to glide across the spangled dews;
And with her finger, dipped in brightest hues,
My faint cheek shall she tinge, and cheer my languid eye.

IV.

Then will I taste the morn's sweet hour,
And singing, bless the new-born day;
Or wandering in Amanda's bower,
Rifle the sweets of May.
And to my verse Amanda shall attend,
And take the posie from the sylvan Muse:
The virtuous, generous fair will not refuse
The Muse's modest gift, her present to a friend.