Prælusive

"“ Ah! welcome merry hour of dawn! The freſh breeze ruſtling thro’ the corn, The riſing ſun’s præluſive beams That dance in gold on glaſſy ſtreams, The goſſamour’s fine ſilvery thread That lightly float o’er field‐flower’s head, The dew‐drops left by weeping night, That crown green leaves with beads of light, Now ſweetly ſwell the peaſant’s lay And greet the blue‐ey’d bluſhing day!"