s glided on in the most harmonious tranquillity; where his
cares were dissipated alternately in the bosom of his family, and the
"tumults of life, real or imaginary, fleeted away in a mutual confidence
and unreserved friendship."

[_A&M_ (describing Alonzo):

There his cares were dissipated, and the troubles of life, real or
imaginary, on light pinions fleeted away. How different would be the
scene when debarred from the unreserved friendship and conversation
of Melissa!]

Here he would accustom himself to rise at early dawn, and dwell with
particular pleasure on the morning scenery. The dappled, rosy-fingered,
blushing morn, arrested his attention; those mild tints that
particularly express the break of day, just awakening from repose; when
the curtain of the night seems insensibly withdrawn, and the varied
landscape exhibits itself by degrees, while the colours of the
atmosphere yet seem doubtful, and the scene imperfect to the view; when
the darkness is not entirely fled, nor the light of the new day is fully
seen; when coolness sits upon the hills, and the dews hang trembling
upon every leaf; when the groves begin to resound with the murmurs of
warbling melody, and the valleys echo with reverberated sounds.

[_NY Weekly_: On Landscape Painting:

The poets, of all ages and all languages, have dwelt with particular
delight upon the morning scenery, and the epithets of the dappled,
the rosy fingered, the saffron, and the blushing morn.... those
chaste and reserved tints that particularly express the break of
day, just awakening from repose; when the curtain of the night seems
to be insensibly withdrawn, and the landscape appears to open by
degrees, when the colours of the sky are yet doubtful, and the
landscape imperfect to the view; in short, when darkness is not
entirely fled, nor light distinctly seen....

When coolness sits upon the mountains, and freshness delights
the plains, when the dews hang trembling upon every leaf, and the
insects flutter on every thorn; when the groves begin to resound
with the murmurs of the dove, and the vallies to echo with the
twitterings from the spray....]

How pleasing at such a time to adore in his works the wonders of the
Creator. That period when the sun begins to diffuse his early rays, to
tip the mountains with light, and the breezes in the air mildly
prognosticate the soft blushes of the morning:

[_NY Weekly_: On Lands