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Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand
Unbars the gates of light. ~ MILTON.

Oh, burst the bonds of slumber,
Beloved, awake, arise!
Night's shades are furled
From the breathing world,
And 'tis morn in the Eastern skies:
Flowers, fair and without number,
Unfold their gorgeous dyes;
Morn speeds apace
On her glorious race,
Then open thy star-like eyes;
Sweet Helen, awake, arise!
Rich, milk-white clouds are sailing
Like ships upon stormless seas;
The heavens grow bright
With liquid light,
And fragrance loads the breeze:
Morn's melodies prevailing,
Sweep through the trembling trees;
The lark's in the sky,
And the linnet on high,
And wilt thou be less blithe than these?
Sweet Helen, awake, arise!
The dew-bent rose is baring
Its breast to the golden sun;
New splendours shower
On temple and tower,
And the stir of day's begun:
We'll do a deed of daring
Ere Phœbus' race be run;
Our bark's below,
And the breezes blow,
And our goal will soon be won:—
Sweet Helen, awake, arise!
What recks it to hearts like ours,
Where we resolve to flee?
Not far we'll roam
For a blissful home,
Since Paradise dwells with thee!
We'll steer for Pleasure's bowers,
With Hope, through Life's dark sea;
And Love shall guide
Us through the tide,
And our trusty Pilot be:
Sweet Helen, awake, arise!

© Alaric Alexander Watts