Hark! Hark! the watchful chanticleer,
Tells us the day's bright harbinger
Peeps o'er the eastern hills, to awe
And warn night's sov'reign to withdraw.
The morning curtains now are drawn,
And now appears the blushing dawn;
Aurora has her roses shed,
To strew the way Sol's steeds must tread.
Xanthus and Ethon harness'd are,
To roll away the burning car,
And, snorting flame, impatient bear
The dressing of the charioteer.
The sable cheeks of sullen night
Are streak'd with rosy streams of light,
Whilst she retires away in fear,
To shade the other hemisphere.
The merry lark now takes her wings,
And long'd-for day's loud welcome sings,
Mounting her body out of sight,
As if she meant to meet the light.
Now doors and windows are unbar'd,
Each where are cheerful voices heard,
And round about good-morrows fly,
As if day taught humanity.
The chimneys now to smoke begin,
And the old wife sits down to spin,
Whilst Kate, taking her pail, does trip
Mull's swoln and strad'ling paps to strip.
Vulcan now makes his anvil ring,
Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth sing,
And Silvio with his bugle horn
Winds an imprime unto the morn.
Now through the morning doors behold
Phoebus array'd in burning gold,
Lashing his fiery steeds, displays
His warm and all enlight'ning rays.
Now each one to his work prepares,
All that have hands are labourers,
And manufactures of each trade
By op'ning shops are open laid.
Hob yokes his oxen to the team,
The angler goes unto the stream,
The wood-man to the purlieus 3 hies,
And lab'ring bees to load their thighs.
Fair Amarillis drives her flocks,
All night safe folded from the fox,
To flow'ry downs, where Collin stays,
To court her with his roundelays.
The traveller now leaves his inn,
A new day's journey to begin,
As he would post it with the day,
And early rising makes good way.
The slick-fac'd school-boy satchel takes,
And with slow pace small riddance makes;
For why, the haste we make, you know,
To knowledge and to virtue's slow.
The fore-horse jingles on the road,
The waggoner lugs on his load,
The field with busy people snies,*
The City rings with various cries.
The world is now a busy swarm,
All doing good, or doing harm ;
But let's take heed our acts be true,
For Heaven's eye sees all we do.
None can that piercing sight evade,
It penetrates the darkest shade,
And sin, though it could scape the eye,
Would be discover'd by the cry.
THE day grows hot, and darts his rays
From such a sure and killing place,
That this half world are fain to fly
The danger of his burning eye.
His early glories were benign,
Warm to be felt, bright to be seen,
And all was comfort, but who can
Endure him when Meridian ?
Of him we as of Kings complain,
Who mildly do begin to reign,
But to the Zenith got of pow'r,
Those whom they should protect devour.
Has not another Phaethon
Mounted the chariot of the sun,
And, wanting art to guide his horse,
Is hurri'd from the sun's due course?
If this hold on, our fertile lands,
Will soon be turn'd to parched sands,
And not an onion that will grow
Without a Nile to overflow.
The grazing herds now droop and pant, E'en without labour fit to faint,
And willingly forsook their meat,
To seek out cover from the heat.
The lagging ox is now unbound,
From larding the new turn'd up ground,
Whilst Hobbinal alike o'er-laid,
Takes his coarse dinner to the shade.
Cellars and grottos now are best
To eat and drink in, or to rest,
And not a soul above is found
Can find a refuge under ground.
When pagan tyranny grew hot,
Thus persecuted Christians got
Into the dark but friendly womb
Of unknown subterranean Rome.
And as that heat did cool at last,
So a few scorching hours o'er pass'd,
In a more mild and temp'rate ray
We may again enjoy the day.
THE day's grown old, the fainting sun
Has but a little way to run,
And yet his steeds, with all his skill,
Scarce lug the chariot down the hill.
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