Classic Poem

Oh , let us wake joyful, elate,
With gladness great and let us rise;
This summer morn with welcome warm
Gives greeting charming, joyous-wise;
Hail! let us pay unto the day,
Sweet roundelay of the harp chords,
And let our heart indite the part,
While our lips start with the heart words.

Dost mark, aye flowing, a still sound going,
In the flower-bedewing fine sultriness,
And blessings even down from heaven
Freely given the ground to bless?
A change of nature every feature,
Fine form with sweet fair fringes there,
The whole round space of the sun's race
Assuming gracious tinges there.

Dost thou not hear a choir calm, clear,
In the grove up here with all their praise,
Singing song to their own Creator
In excellent, long, joyous lays?
On tips of their wings untiring,
On tapering of stately stem,
Warbling, they raise melodious praise
TOhim, who bright days brought to them.
'Twere a better fate than sleeping late
On a bed of state, soft, downy,
Early to stray on a morn of May
To the meads away so flowery;
A course pursue a-top of the dew
Thick grove unto, with the thrushes,
Incense to find fragrant as wine,
Like scented fine rose bushes.

Gifts liberal and bountiful,
No wintry dule this gracious time,
Put a deep-dye stain on every plain,
With dew and rain refreshing them.
Flora doth cleed each several mead,
Dell and bank-heid with flowers,
And daisies, roses, lily posies,
'Mid splendid nosegay bowers.

And Phoebus bright with blessed light
Is gilding the height of the bens,
And down doth shed his warm rays red,
And glory spread on flowery glens;
Each little holm and heathy coomb
Doth the joy assume of the May,
Each ridge and hill and ilka fell —
The summer's swell they all display.

Mild calm reigns o'er the sea and shore,
The upland moor, and the smooth plain;
And drops of dew the ground bestrew
As high hot grew the bright sunshine;
Woods, crops together, grass and heather,
Fin, feather, and beasts sans reason,
All are let loose to their wont and use,
To their way and choice this season.

The game is gay young lasses play
On slopes grassy in the vast moor,
In fertile glen glad times they spend
With the kine they tend to pasture;
All fresh and sound with ne'er a stound,
And with beauteous bounteous graces,
Innocence warm, unconscious charm
Of their loves transform their faces.

Hence! ill-humour, tire and cummer,
And let us never be wilting;
And shake off thorough every sorrow;
Song, music borrow and lilting;
Yon haunt outbraves a hundred ways
All the causeway's hateful hustle,
An' I in fragrant wreath of green-tressed heath
In the braes released from bustle.

Be fell disease, and pithless ease
In elegancies of castles;
And sicknesses contemned, strengthless,
At the kings address and vassals';
Unbroken weel may it flourish still
In the kind cots leal, though sparing
Of the Gael well made, in the kilt arrayed,
Clean, kind-hearted, o' fine bearing.