Classic Poem

Now Morn is awaking, her dark couch forsaking,
Her herald's alighting afar on the hill;
And, hark! there's a humming announcing her coming
To greenwood and valley, to river and rill.
And yonder lies Ocean, the type of commotion;
But to her own caverns her storms have withdrawn;
With softest surrender she welcomes the tender,
The trembling approaches and blushes of Dawn.

The firmament bendeth, the glory ascendeth,
'Mid shadows receding in mantles of dun;
'Mid phantom orbs reeling, still upwards she's wheeling,
Till Earth, Air and Ocean are blended in one.
With azure eyes beaming, and golden locks streaming,
She kindles the breast of the dark, heaving brine;
Benlomond the hoary has caught up the glory,
And round his scarr'd temples the purples entwine.

The glory's extending to this torrent, blending
The foam of its fury with gold and with green,
While out of the splendor eyes saint-like and tender
Look down on the tumult, all still and serene.
Alas! we but mutter, attempting to utter
The grandeur, the glory, these shadows put on—
These types of our being, sent by the All-seeing,
These symbols of glories that circle His throne.