Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/483

 Up, Sluggard, up! all is awake With song and smile to welcome thee; The flower its timid buds would break Wert thou but once abroad to see! Teeming with love, earth, ocean, air Are musical with grateful prayer; Each measured sound, each glorious sight, Personifies intense delight! The breeze that crisps the summer seas. Or softly plains through leafy trees, Or, on the hill-side, stoops to chase The wild kid in its giddy race— The breeze that, like a lover's sigh, Of mingled fear and ecstacy, Plays amorous over brow and cheek, Methinks it has a voice to speak The joys of the awakening morn— When, on exulting pinion borne, The lark, sole monarch of the sky, Pours from his throat rich melody.

Hollo, my Fancy! Fast a-field, Aurora's face is just revealed: Night's shadows yet have scantly sped Midway up yonder mountain's head— While in the valley far below,