Low breathed the western wind at close of day;
The bloomy shrubs were bent with heavy showers;
The clouds had hardly rolled their wreaths away,
They darkly hung, where high the mountain towers;
Through flowery vale, the dashing stream
Leaped sparklingly, in many a fall;
And evening's rosy beam
Tinted the forest tall.

The loving birds were emulous in song;
The cattle lowed; on slope of sunny hill
Sported the lambs, and wildly raced along
The turf that bore its beaded treasures still;
And as they swept, a shower of light
Flew round, like gems that deck the snow,
When morning glances bright
On hill and valley flow.

And gleaming o'er a wood-embowered lake,
Floated 'mid dreamy haze the golden ray;
The rippling wave, in many a yellow flake,
Curled round the dewy rock, and slid away:
In rustic boat, his dipping oars
Attuned to song the peasant-boy;
Gliding by happy shores,
He felt the season's joy.

By willowy isle, with silvery catkins bowed,
He skimmed the sheeted gold; and on my ear
Echoed his song, now sweetly low, now loud
As when the patriot ode is swelling near.
From rock to rock the music rung;
By wooded hill it died along:
Light was the heart that sung
That wild and woodland song.

" The buds are now unfolding,
And gayly swings the vine;
In woods the birds are holding
Their merry valentine;
On hill, in meadow waking,
Peep out the blue-eyed flowers:
And forest-leaves are making
A shade for summer hours:
And why should not my heart be gay,
When all the world is now at play?

" And every heart is beating,
Is beating full with love;
Advancing, now retreating,
How gently woos the dove!
On topmost bough high swinging, —
Ah, there is none so gay!
So clear his voice is ringing,
As merry thrush to-day:
And I will merrily sing my song,
As o'er the lake I skim along. "
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