Classic Poem

Grey morn ascends the eastern vault of Heav'n
With feather'd foot. Led by the jolly hours
That circling dance around his golden car,
See Phœbus rise, and warm effulgence spread.
The mountain top now shines with orient gold.
The face of Nature feels the kindling heat,
And laughing landscapes own the fertile god.
The dew-drop glitters through the verdant plain
With short liv'd radiance—soon to be exhal'd.
Hence grandeur learn, how fugitive thy pomp!
The garden's blossoms scent the vernal air:
On ev'ry spray the feather'd choir exult
In the soft blessings of the blooming spring;
And the sweet song from ecchoing hill and dale,
From dale to hill resounds the Deity's praise;
That power which spoke creation into life.
Now labour bursting from the bands of sleep,
Hies to the field with industry the boor,
And ploughs the stubborn glebe.