Prithee hear me out.
The fragrant morn her rosy blushes spreads,
And o’er the land a dewy influence sheds,
Scarce has the sun emerg’d from ocean’s tide,
His beams yet sleeping on yon mountain’s side,
All nature wakes, life breathes in ev’ry gale,
The insect-tribe spread forth the mimic sail,
Aërial songsters chaunt the vocal lay,
Sport on the wing, and hail returning day.