Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky

    The orient sun expands his roseate ray,

  And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye

    Fades the meek radiance of departing day;

  But fairer is the smile of one we love,

    Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.

  And sweeter than the music of the grove,

    The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight

    EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight

  From the hard durance of the empty throng.

    Too swiftly then towards the silent night

  Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,

    Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,

    Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.