Classic Poem

Winter now has flown away,
And the snow has left the hills;
Spring, with cheek all flushed and gay,
Now her urn with fragrance fills.

Now the ploughman's heart is high,
As he drives his team along,
Turning every furrow by
To the melody of song.

Now the meadow laughs with flowers,
And the woods a balsam pour;
Zephyrs breathe through rosy bowers,
Where they nod along the shore.

Now the brook, that lately stole
Murmuring in an icy chain,
Freshens, as its waters roll,
With sweet waves, the grassy plain

Now the pastured bullocks drink,
Where full rivers kiss their brim;
And where poplars crown the brink,
Rustic flutes and voices hymn.

Now the girls, in festal glee,
Garlanded with roses, play;
Gathering blossoms, like the bee,
Light they sport the summer day.

When she thus, on Enna's plain,
Crowned with myrtle, chanced to rove,
Pluto, from her frighted train,
Stole the idol of his love.

Fairest Spring! at thy return,
Meadows breathe the balm of flowers,
And the wheels of day's god burn
Brightest in the train of hours.