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THE SKY-LARK! 



Whither away, companion of the sun, 



So high this laughing morn ? are those soft clouds 



Of floating silver, which appear to shun 



Day's golden eye, thy home? or why 'mid shrouds 



Of loosen'd light, dost thou pour forth thy song ? 



Descend, sun-loving bird ! nor try thy strength thus long. 



Ambitious songster ! soaring merrily, 



Thy wings keep time to thy rich music's flow, 



Rolling along the clouds celestially, 



And echoing o'er the hill's oak- waving brow ; 



Across the flood, whose face reflects the sky, 



And thee, a warbling speck deep-mirror'd from on high. 



And thou has't vanish'd singing from my sight 



So must this earth be lost to eyes of thine ; 

 Around thee is illimitable light 



Thou lookest down, and all appears to shine 

 Bright as above ; thine is a glorious way, 

 Pavilion'd all around with golden-spreading day ! 



The broad unbounded sky is all thine own, 

 The silver-sheeted heavens thy free domain ; 



No land-mark there no hand to bring thee down, 

 Sole monarch of the blue etherial plain ; 



To thee is airy space far-stretching given, 



Broad and unmeasured as the boundless vault of heav'n ! 



And thou art gone, perchance to catch the sound 



Of angel voices heard far up the sky ; 

 And wil't return harmonious to the ground, 



Then with new music, taught by those on high, 

 Ascend again, and carol o'er the bowers 

 Of woodbines waving sweet, and wild bee-bended flowers. 



Lov'st thou to sing alone, above the dews ? 



Leaving the nightingale to cheer the night, 

 When rides the moon, chasing the shadowy hues 



From list'ning vales, far stretched in silent night ; 

 She veils her head, while thou art with the sun, 

 Looking beneath on hills, and woods, where deep streams run. 



Lute of the sky, farewell ! 'till I again 



Climb these cloud-gazing hills, thou must not come 



To where I dwell, nor pour thy heav'n-caught strain 

 Above the curling of my smoky home ; 



Others may hear thee, see thee, yet not steal 



That joy from thy glad song, which it is mine to feel. 



M.M. No. 97. 



