Henry Rowe.

1754-1819

521   Sun

ANGEL, king of streaming morn;
Cherub, call’d by Heav’n to shine;
T’ orient tread the waste forlorn;
Guide ætherial, pow’r divine;
   Thou, Lord of all within!

Golden spirit, lamp of day,
Host, that dips in blood the plain,
Bids the crimson’d mead be gay,
Bids the green blood burst the vein;
   Thou, Lord of all within!

Soul, that wraps the globe in light;
Spirit, beckoning to arise;
Drives the frowning brow of night,
Glory bursting o’er the skies;
 Thou, Lord of all within!

522   Moon

THEE too, modest tressàed maid,
   When thy fallen stars appear;
When in lawn of fire array’d
   Sov’reign of yon powder’d sphere;
To thee I chant at close of day,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Throned in sapphired ring supreme,
   Pregnant with celestial juice,
On silver wing thy diamond stream
   Gives what summer hours produce;
While view’d impearl’d earth’s rich inlay,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip,
   Breathed the flow’ry leaves among;
Draughts delicious wet my lip;
   Drown’d in nectar drunk my song;
While tuned to Philomel the lay,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Dew, that od’rous ointment yields,
   Sweets, that western winds disclose,
Bathing spring’s more purpled fields,
   Soft’s the band that winds the rose;
While o’er thy myrtled lawns I stray
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.