The Black-bird/The Sky-Lark

For other versions of this work, see The Skylark.
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The Sky-Lark.

Hark, hark the Sky-Lark singing,As the early clouds are bringing Fragrance on their wings!Still, still on high he’s soaring,Thro’ the liquid haze exploring, Fainter now he sings;Where the purple dawn is breaking, Fast approaching morning’s ray;From his wings the dew he’s shaking, As he joyful hails the day!While echo from his slumbers waking,  Imitates his lay.
See, see the ruddy morning,With his blushing locks adorning Mountain, wood and vale;Clear, clear the dew-drops glancing,As the rising Sun’s advancing O’er the eastern hill.Now the distant summit's clearing, As the vapours steal their way; ​And its heath-clad breast’s appearing, Ting’d with Phœbus’ golden ray: Far down the glen the blackbird’s chearing Morning with his lay.
Come, come let us be straying,Where the hazel boughs are playing, O’er yon summit grey:Mild, mild the breeze is blowing,And the crystal streamlet's flowing Gently on its way.On its banks the wild rose springing, Blushing in the sunny ray:Wet with dew its head is hanging, Bending low the prickly spray:Then haste, my love, while birds are singing  To the new-born day.

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