Page:The poetical works of Thomas Campbell.djvu/123

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And when its yellow lustre smiled  O’er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child  To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,  The first made anthem rang On earth delivered from the deep,  And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse’s eye  Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy,  Be still the prophet’s theme!
The earth to thee her incense yields,  The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshened fields  The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast  O'er mountain, tower, and town. Or mirrored in the ocean vast,  A thousand fathoms down!
As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark  First sported in thy beam.
For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age  That first spoke peace to man.
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