Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1831.pdf/9



God of the West Wind, awake! See who fain thy sleep would break*— She, the morning's gracious power, Born in its most lovely hour, When the stars retire in night For the mighty fates to write On their rays the word and sign Only prophets may divine; When the blushing clouds are breaking, As if Love himself were waking— When the sun first turns the mist Into melted amethyst— She hath bade the north wind keep In his caverns dark and deep— Told the south wind, that his breath Fades too soon the morning wreath— Sent the east wind where the sands Sweep around the pilgrim bands— Her sweet hand is on thy brow— Wake thee, gentle West Wind, now. She doth want thy wings to bear Morning's messages through air, Where the dewy grass is keeping Watch above the skylark's sleeping; Stir the clover with thy wing, Send him 'mid the clouds to sing. Thou must go and kiss the rose, Crimson with the night's repose; She will sigh for coming day, Bear thou that sweet sigh away; On the violet's sleepy eyes Pour the azure of the skies; From the rich and purple wreath Steal the fragrance of its breath; Wake the bees to the sweet spoil Which rewards their summer toil; Shake the bough, and rouse the bird, Till one general song is heard; Fling aside the glittering leaves, Till the darkest nook receives Somewhat of the morning beam; Stir the ripples of the stream, Till it flash like silver back In the white swan's radiant track. Rouse thee for Aurora's sake— God of the West Wind, awake!