DRUID .

'Tis thus (and let us hail the sacred sign!)
While sad around gloometh the Night of Sorrow,
While Seasons sicken and frail Men repine,
Great Nature worketh still some hidden change;
Where now the raven brood of Darkness range,
Gay plumes shall glitter and sweet voices sing,
Hope shall light up afresh her mild day-spring,
And the fair Sun of Joy shall gild to-morrow.