The Morning

No.5 of Six Cantatas, For a Voice and Instruments (London, 1755)

The glittering sun begins to rise
On yonder hill, and paints the skies.

The lark his warbling matin sings,
Each flower in all its beauty springs.

The village up, the shepherd tries
His pipe, and to the woodland hies.

Oh! that on th¹enamelled green
My Delia, lovely maide, were seen,
Fresher than the roses bloom,
Sweeter than the mead¹s perfume.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away,
To Delia¹s ear the tender notes convey.
As some lonely turtle his lost love deplores,
And with shrill echoes fills the sounding shores.
So I like him, abandoned and forlorn,
With ceasless plaints my absent Delia mourn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along;
The birds shall cease to tune their evening song,
The winds to blow, the waving woods to move,
And streams to murmer e¹er I cease to love.
Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain,
Nor balmy sleep to labourers spent with pain,
Nor showers to larks, nor sunshine to the bee,
Are half so pleasing as thy sight to me.