This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty, Wherewith he wont at Heav'n's high council-table, To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside, and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
NOw Morn her rosie steps in th' Eastern Clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient Pearle, When Adam wak't, so customd, for his sleep Was Aerie light from pure digestion bred, And temperat vapors bland, which th' only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill Matin Song Of Birds on every bough; so much the more His wonder was to find unwak'nd Eve With Tresses discompos'd, and glowing Cheek, As through unquiet rest: he on his side Leaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial Love Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beautie, which whether waking or asleep,
Mourn, mourn, ye Muses, all your loss deplore, The young, the noble Strephon is no more. Yes, yes, he fled quick as departing light, And ne’er shall rise from Death’s eternal night, So rich a prize the Stygian gods ne’er bore, Such wit, such beauty, never graced their shore. He was but lent this duller world t’ improve In all the charms of poetry, and love; Both were his gift, which freely he bestowed, And like a god, dealt to the wond’ring crowd. Scorning the little vanity of fame, Spight of himself attained a glorious name. But oh! in vain was all his peevish pride, The sun as soon might his vast luster hide, As piercing, pointed, and more lasting bright,
Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much Unvisited, endeavour'd to retrace My life through its first years, and measured back The way I travell'd when I first began To love the woods and fields; the passion yet Was in its birth, sustain'd, as might befal, By nourishment that came unsought, for still, From week to week, from month to month, we liv'd A round of tumult: duly were our games Prolong'd in summer till the day-light fail'd; No chair remain'd before the doors, the bench And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep The Labourer, and the old Man who had sate, A later lingerer, yet the revelry Continued, and the loud uproar: at last,
Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till the ship has almost drank Death from the o'er-brimming deep;
I.1. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
The gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow," Was but an Infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate Long left without a warder, I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Great Minstrel of the Border!
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