FOR CHILDREN 241

THE MORNING MIST.

Loox, William, how the morning mists
Have covered all the scene;

Nor house, nor hill, canst thou behold,
Grey wood, or meadow green

The distant spire across the vale
These floating vapours shroud ;

Scarce are the neighbouring poplars seen,
Pale shadowed in the cloud.

But seest thou, William, where the mists
Sweep o’er the southern sky,

The dim effulgence of the sun
That lights them as they fly ?

Soon shall that glorious orb of day
In all his strength arise,

And roll along his azure way,
Through clear and cloudless skies,

Then shall we see across the vale
The village spire so white,
And the grey wood and meadows green
Shall live again in light.
So, William, from the moral world
The clouds shall pass away,
The light that struggles through them now
Shall beam eternal day.
Southey.