Morning Is not she a saint then, say, Rise, Madam! rise and give me light, For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes. Nathaniel Field [1587-1633] THE NIGHT-PIECE: TO JULIA HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber: The stars of the night Will lend thee their light. Like tapers clear without number.. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour unto thee. Robert Herrick [1591-1674) MORNING THE lark now leaves his watery nest, Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, Who look for day before his mistress wakes; William D'Avenant [1606-1668] MATIN-SONG From "The Rape of Lucrece " PACK, clouds, away, and welcome, day, Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft To give my Love good-morrow Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Give my fair Love good-morrow! To give my Love good-morrow Thomas Heywood [ ? -1650?] THE ROSE SWEET, serene, sky-like flower, Haste to adorn the bower; Mary Morison New-startled blush of Flora, (Who will contest no more), Vermilion ball that's given Haste, haste to make her bed. Dear offspring of pleased Venus See! rosy is her bower, Her floor is all this flower Her bed a rosy nest By a bed of roses pressed. But early as she dresses, Why fly you her bright tresses? Because her cheeks are near. 671 Richard Lovelace (1618-1658] SONG SEE, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes! And now the sun begins to rise; Less glorious is the morn that breaks From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. With light united, day they give; But different fates ere night fulfil; How many by his warmth will live! William Congreve [1670-1729] MARY MORISON O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wished, the trysted hour! That make the miser's treasure poor: 1 How blithely wad I bide the stour The lovely Mary Morison! Yestreen, when to the trembling string I sat, but neither heard nor saw: O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, If love for love thou wiltna gie, A thought ungentle canna be Robert Burns [1759-1796] WAKE, LADY! UP! quit thy bower! late wears the hour, O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, And the wild kid sports merrily. The sun is bright, the sky is clear: Up! maiden fair, and bind thy hair, Waste not these hours, so fresh and gay; Up! Time will tell the morning bell "The Young May Moon The aged crone keeps house alone, Lo! while thou sleep'st they haste away! Joanna Baillie [1762-1851] THE SLEEPING BEAUTY SLEEP on, and dream of Heaven awhile- And move, and breathe delicious sighs! Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! -And now, how like a saint she sleeps! A seraph in the realms of rest! Sleep on secure! Above control Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee: And may the secret of thy soul Remain within its sanctuary! Samuel Rogers [1763-1855] 'THE YOUNG MAY MOON" THE Young May moon is beaming, love, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! |