In the barn the tenant cock,
 Close to partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!)
 Jocund that the morning's nigh.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
 Shadows, nurs'd by Night, retire,
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
 Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,
 Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
 Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge
 See the chatt'ring swallow spring;
Darting thro' the one-arch'd bridge,
 Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top
 Gently greets the morning gale!
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
 Daisies in the dewy vale.

From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
 (Restless till her task be done)
Now the busy bee's employ'd
 Sipping dew before the sun.

Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock,
 Where the limpid stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
 When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin for the promis'd corn,
 (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe)
Anxious hears the huntsman's horn,
 Boldly sounding, drown his pipe.

Sweet, O sweet, the warbling throng
 On the white emblossom'd spray!
Nature's universal song
 Echoes to the rising day.