To A Lady, On The Rise Of Morn.

TO A LADY, ON THE RISE OF MORN.

RISE, blossom of the spring, The dews of morn Still linger on the barren thorn; Arise, and sing!

O! join my rapt'rous song! And o'er the wild bleak hills And unfledg'd fields along Pursue the trickling rills: O, rise! Cloath'd with that modest grace That veils the glowing beauties of thy face, And downward points the radiance of thine eyes. I wait thee on the thawing mountains, Where spring dissolves the lingering fountains; O! trace with me the opening flowers; Brave the sharp breeze, damp dews, and vernal showers. Wild various Nature strews her charms, And storms surround her mildest calms; O! to her frowns let us superior be, Taste each delight, and hail the coming spring, Singing the heavenly song of liberty!