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THE MORNING WALK.
Come, let us wander thro' the woodland bowers,
Or seek the primrose in the lonely dale;
For now the tears of April gem the flowers,
That shed their balmy incense on the gale.
Beside the margin of the winding stream
The shepherd leads his sportive flock along;
The woodlark soars to hail the morning beam,
And tunes the music of his matin song.
In dewy meads with flowers and verdure drest,
The blooming children of the cottage play;
With soft compassion spare the downy nest,
And gaily carol as they rove away.
Now fairy spring adorns the lovely scene,
In mossy dells the fragrant violets blow;
And veil'd in opening leaves of tender green,
Uncultur'd roses in profusion glow.
Come, let us hail the vernal smile of morn,
Delightful hour, inspiring to the muse;
The redbreast warbles on the budding thorn,
And every blossom shines in pearly dews.
