MORNING. Ann Batten Cristall Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T126557 Cristall, Ann Batten. Poetical Sketches by Ann Batten Cristall. London Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul's Church Yard 1795 pp. 9-11. [14],187,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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MORNING . ROSAMONDE . WILD midst the teeming buds of opening May , Breaking large branches from the flow'ry thorn , O'er the fern'd hills see ROSAMONDA stray , Scattering the pearls which the gay leaves adorn ! Her ringlets o'er her temples play , Flush'd with the orient splendour of the morn . The sun broke forth-and wide its glories threw , Blushing along the sky , and sparkling in the dew . The plains gay-glitter'd with ethereal light ; And the field-melody , Nature's wild harmony , Breath'd love , and sang delight ! Fresh ROSAMONDE the glowing scene surveys , Her youthful bosom inly stung with pain ; Early amid the shadowy trees she strays , Her shining ears the starting tears restrain ; While tyrant Love within her pulses plays , O'er the wet grass she flew with wild disdain . She flew from thought , and far She sang , and hail'd the morning star . Her voice was pinion'd on the wind , Which wafts her notes around ; Encircling zephyrs caught each sound , And bore them echoing through the wood , Where pleas'd offended URBAN stood , With archest smile , yet musical and kind : Conquering the sigh , she gayly sung , And scorn loud-trembled on her wiery tongue . While URBAN stood , and held her in his eyes , He to his lips applies The soft-breath'd flute ; Whose notes , when touch'd with art , Steal to the inmost heart , And throw the tyrannizing spirit down - While vanity and pride are charm'd and mute . Those lays reach'd ROSAMONDA'S ear , She fluttering , like a bird whom fear Has drawn within the fascinating serpent's fangs , Unable to conceal the pangs Of pride , conflicting with returning love , To hide her blushes , darts amid the grove : Sweet showers fast sprinkle from her lovely eyes , Which drown her short-liv'd scorn ; But as she moves the young musician flies , Leaves her all wild , sad , weeping , and forlorn !