Old feeble Winter to gay Spring resigns The infant year; for whom the rose-buds rend Their verdant bands, and in the wreath she twines; Their blushing charms with her blue violets blend; No more a vest of snow the babe confines! Light o'er his form she throws a robe of green, Adorned with blossoms, gemmed with dew-drops sheen. The crimson morn unbars her gates of gold, Rousing the torpid songsters of the grove; And while the russet sprays soft leaves unfold The blithesome choir attune their notes to love. In streams that now no icy fetters hold, The fearless nymph her smiling infant laves, While sun-beams sparkle on the tissued waves. |