A
MORNING
PIECE
,
OR
,
AN
HYMN
for
the
HAY-MAKERS
.
ODE
I.
Quinetiam
Gallum
noctem
explaudentibus
alis
Auroram
clarâ
consuetum
voce
vocare
.
LUCRET.
BRISK
chaunticleer
his
mattins
had
begun
,
And
broke
the
silence
of
the
night
,
And
thrice
he
call'd
aloud
the
tardy
sun
,
And
thrice
he
hail'd
the
dawn's
ambiguous
light
;
Back
to
their
graves
the
fear-begotten
phantoms
run
.
Strong
Labour
got
up
with
his
pipe
in
his
mouth
,
And
stoutly
strode
over
the
dale
,
He
lent
new
perfumes
to
the
breath
of
the
south
,
On
his
back
hung
his
wallet
and
flail
.
Behind
him
came
Health
from
her
cottage
of
thatch
,
Where
never
physician
had
lifted
the
latch
.
First
of
the
village
Colin
was
awake
,
And
thus
he
sung
,
reclining
on
his
rake
.
Now
the
rural
graces
three
Dance
beneath
yon
maple
tree
;
First
the
vestal
Virtue
,
known
By
her
adamantine
zone
;
Next
to
her
in
rosy
pride
,
Sweet
Society
,
the
bride
;
Last
Honesty
,
full
seemly
drest
In
her
cleanly
home-spun
vest
.
The
abby
bells
in
wak'ning
rounds
The
warning
peal
have
giv'n
;
And
pious
Gratitude
resounds
Her
morning
hymn
to
heav'n
.
All
nature
wakes
—
the
birds
unlock
their
throats
,
And
mock
the
shepherd's
rustic
notes
.
All
alive
o'er
the
lawn
,
Full
glad
of
the
dawn
,
The
little
lambkins
play
,
Sylvia
and
Sol
arise
,
—
and
all
is
day
—
Come
,
my
mates
,
let
us
work
,
And
all
hands
to
the
fork
,
While
the
Sun
shines
,
our
Hay-cocks
to
make
,
So
fine
is
the
Day
,
And
so
fragrant
the
Hay
,
That
the
Meadow's
as
blithe
as
the
Wake
.
Our
voices
let's
raise
In
Phoebus's
praise
,
Inspir'd
by
so
glorious
a
theme
,
Our
musical
words
Shall
be
join'd
by
the
birds
,
And
we'll
dance
to
the
tune
of
the
stream
.