Page:Halleck.djvu/257

Rh Then welcome to our groves once more, Thou token sure that winter’s o’er.

Sweet Bird! the grateful muse shall pay
 * Her homage and her love to thee;

To thee attune her earliest lay,
 * And wake the lyre’s soft harmony;
 * While each exulting mind

Shall join, accordant with her lays, And every hand unite to raise A wreath of honorary bays,
 * Around thy plumes to bind;

To crown thee first of all the train Whose sportive warblings glad the plain.

Ye wintry clouds! that o’er the heart
 * A shade of sable honor threw!

Ye shadowy sorrows! hence! depart—
 * Ye heart-corroding thoughts—adieu!
 * With all your gloomy train,

On wings of stormy tempests fly To Zembla’s coasts or Scythia’s sky; Then deep in trackless deserts lie,
 * And ne’er return again.

Let life a cheerful prospect wear, Uncurtained by thy clouds’ despair!

The mournful grove, in weeds forlorn,
 * Bewails her festive summer bower: