He wak'd the long dark night, and wish'd for morn.
Soon as he feels the quickening beam of heav'n,
And balmy breath of May, among the fields
And flowers he takes his morning walk; his heart
Beats with new life; his eye is bright and blithe;
Health strews her roses o'er his cheek, renew'd
In youth and beauty; his unbidden tongue
Pours native harmony, and sings to heav'n.

In ancient times, as ancient bards have sung,
This was a forest. Here the mountain-oak
Hung o'er the craggy cliff, while from its top
The eagle mark'd his prey; the stately ash
Rear'd high his nervous statue, while below
The twining alders darken'd all the scene.
Safe in the shade, the tenants of the wood
Assembled, bird and beast. The turtle-dove
Coo'd, amorous, all the live-long summer's day.
Lover of men, the piteous redbreast plain'd,
Sole-setting on the bough. Blithe on the bush,
The blackbird, sweetest of the woodland choir,
Warbled his liquid lay; to shepherd-swain
Mellifluous music, as his master's flock,
With his fair mistress and his faithful dog,
He tended in the vale: while leverets round.
In sportive races, through the forest flew

With feet of wind; and, venturing from the rock,
The snow-white coney sought his evening meal.
Here, too, the poet, as inspir'd at eve

He roam'd the dusky wood, or fabled brook
That piecemeal printed ruins in the rock,
Beheld the blue-eyed sisters of the stream,
And heard the wild note of the fairy throng
That charm'd the queen of heav'n; as round the tree,
Time-hallow'd, hand in hand they led the dance,
With sky-blue mantles glittering in her beam.

Low by the lake, as yet without a name,
Fair bosom'd in the bottom of the vale,
Arose a cottage, green with ancient turf,
Half hid in hoary trees, and from the north
Fenc'd by a wood, but open to the sun.
Here dwelt a peasant, reverend with the locks
Of age; yet youth was ruddy on his cheek:
His farm his only care: his sole delight
To tend his daughter, beautiful and young :
To watch her paths; to fill her lap with flow'rs;
To see her spread into the bloom of years
The perfect picture of her mother's youth.
His age's hope, the apple of his eyè,
Belov'd of heav'n, his fair Levina grew,
In youth and grace, the Naiad of the vale.

Fresh as the flow'r amid the sunny showers
Of May, and blither than the bird of dawn,
Both roses' bloom gave beauty to her cheek,
Soft temper'd with a smile. The light of heav'n,
And innocence, illum'd her virgin-eye,

Lucid and lovely as the morning star.

Her breast was fairer than the vernal bloom
Of valley-lily, op'ning in a show'r ;

Fair as the morn, and beautiful as May,
The glory of the year, when first she comes
Array'd, all beauteous, with the robes of heav'n;
And, breathing summer breezes, from her locks
Shakes genial dews, and from her lap the flowers.
Thus beautiful she look'd; yet something more,
And better far than beauty, in her looks
Appear'd: the maiden blush of modesty;
The smile of cheerfulness, and sweet content;
Health's freshest rose, the sun-shine of the soul:
Each heightening each, effus'd o'er all her form
A nameless grace, the beauty of the mind.

Thus finish'd far above her peers, she drew
The eyes of all the village, and inflam'd
The rival shepherds of the neighbouring dale,
Who laid the spoils of Summer at her feet,
And made the woods enamour'd of her name.

But pure as buds before they blow, and still
A virgin in her heart, she knew not love:
But all alone, amid her garden fair,

From morn to noon, from noon to dewy éve,

She spent her days: her pleasing task to tend
The flowers; to lave them from the water-spring;
To ope
the buds with her enamour'd breath;
Rank the gay tribes, and rear them in the sun.
In youth, the index of maturer years,
Left by her school-companions at their play,
She'd often wander in the wood, or roam
The wilderness, in quest of curious flower,
Or nest of bird unknown, till eve approach'd,
And hem'd her in the shade. To obvious swain,
Or woodman chanting in the greenwood glen,
She'd bring the beauteous spoils, and ask their names.
Thus plied assiduous her delightful task,
Day after day, till ev'ry herb she nam'd

That paints the robe of Spring, and knew the voice
Of every warbler in the vernal wood.

Her garden stretch'd along the river side,
High up a sunny bank: on either side,
A hedge forbade the vagrant foot; above,
An ancient forest screen'd the green recess.
Transplanted here, by her creative hand,

Each herb of Nature, full of fragrant sweets,
That scents the breath of Summer; ev'ry flow'r,
Pride of the plain, that blooms on festal days
In shepherd's garland, and adorns the year,
In beauteous clusters flourish'd: Nature's work,
And order, finish'd by the hand of Art.
Here gowans, natives of the village green,
To daisies grew. The lilies of the field
Put on the robe they neither sow'd nor spun.
Sweet smelling shrubs and cheerful spreading trees,
Unfrequent scatter'd, as by Nature's hand,
Shaded the flowers; and to her Eden drew
The earliest concerts of the Spring, and all
The various music of the vocal year.
Retreat romantic! Thus from early youth
Her life she led; one summer's day, serene
And fair, without a cloud; like poet's dreams
Of vernal landscapes, of Elysian vales,
And islands of the blest; where, hand in hand,
Eternal Spring and Autumn rule the year,
And Love and Joy lead on immortal youth!

'Twas on a summer's day, when early show'rs Had wak'd the various vegetable race To life and beauty, fair Levina stray'd. Far in the blooming wilderness she stray'd