Роберт Андерсон (Robert Anderson)

To the Lark

Sweet is thy carol, soaring Lark!
Rejoicing nature bids thee sing;
Thy eager flight I fondly mark,
Blithe messenger of welcome Spring:
Thou call'st me from yon noisy throng,
Where endless cares disturb the mind,
And list'ning to thy cheerful song,
I shun the temptings of mankind.

Lone monitor! when Sol's bright ray
Illumes the gently sloping hill,
And meditation guides my way,
Along some unfrequented rill;
Thy upward flight points to that Pow'r,
Whose goodness will for ever last:
Then let me wisely spend this hour,
And muse on many idly past. 

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