Томас Джон Дибдин (Thomas John Dibdin)

Hail to the Beam of Morning

LONG time a blooming lass I courted,
⁠     A lovely girl: with manners simple;
Upon her cheek the graces sported,
⁠     And Cupid lurk'd in ev'ry dimple.
Each morning, at the crimson flushes,
⁠     Which spread above the misty mountain,
She rose with modest healthy blushes,
     ⁠To fill the pitcher at the fountain.
And as the skylark spreads his wing,
Thus would my lovely Ellen sing,
⁠     Hail, hail, hail to the beam of morning.

Pride for a while my passion quelling,
     ⁠Forbade my soul it's vows to render;
But soon her eye my pride expelling,
     ⁠Gave birth to every impulse tender.
Now with my girl and friends surrounding,
     ⁠My lisping offspring round me clinging,
Whilst hope in promis'd joys abounding,
⁠     Inspires the artless strain we're singing;
And when the skylark spreads his wing,
We make each neighbouring valley ring,
     ⁠Hail, hail to the beam of morning! 

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