'Tis morning and I wake—the earliest vision
That beams upon me is thy face divine;
And then my spirit floats in light elysian,
And bliss springs youthful from those smiles of thine.
"'Tis she—'tis she!" I cry,—swift flow my veins,
I kiss the air, as if her breath had bless'd it—
I bow to earth, as if her feet had press'd it—
Yes! she was here, and still her influence reigns.
Fair Representative! the sweet infection
Of power is with thee—gentle, but supreme;
Blending such dreams of hope and recollection—
And gilding with new glory every dream:
Look!—for the sun is up, and on thy face
Throws all its lustre, light, and heavenly grace.