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Song - "Fresh from the dewy hill"

分类: 英语诗歌 
Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry year

    Smiles on my head and mounts his flaming car;

    Round my young brows the laurel wreathes a shade,

    And rising glories beam around my head.

    My feet are wing'd, while o'er the dewy lawn,

    I meet my maiden risen like the morn:

    O bless those holy feet, like angels' feet;

    O bless those limbs, beaming with heav'nly light.

    Like as an angel glitt'ring in the sky

    In times of innocence and holy joy;

    The joyful shepherd stops his grateful song

    To hear the music of an angel's tongue.

    So when she speaks, the voice of Heaven I hear;

    So when we walk, nothing impure comes near;

    Each field seems Eden, and each calm retreat;

    Each village seems the haunt of holy feet.

    But that sweet village where my black-eyed maid

    Closes her eyes in sleep beneath night's shade,

    Whene'er I enter, more than mortal fire

    Burns in my soul, and does my song inspire.

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