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On the green-wood bank, where the primrose pale
Looks up, to welcome the nightingale;
And the regal crocus, in purple and gold,
Bursts into life from its leafy fold.
Come—we are weary of wind and storm;
Gladden our hearts with thy fairy form;—
Paint the first daisy's "wee crimson tip,"
Like the roseate hue of a maiden's lip:
And blest childhood s darling, the buttercup,
With bright rays gild, as its flowers glance up;
Let the hyacinth wave in the scented breeze,
And the May-buds peep on the hawthorn trees,
And the orchards dress in their gayest gear,—
'Tis the holiday-time of the circling year:
And bid the birds sing on each branch and spray,
While the gay flowers dance in the genial ray.
Merry and glad will the bright earth be
When Winter retreats, and thou art free,
Floating around us on fragrant wing,
And gemmed with soft dew-drops—thou fair young Spring!
