( ii8 ) 



Benealh llic hrighl sun-sliiue , 

 Thaï vrarms llicir venlant bed — 



For thec we wrave a crowu 



Of every maidcn blossom, 

 Of (lowrels, ail lliine own, 



Which gem ihy glowing bosom : 

 There's music in thy voice , 



The zéphyr of ihe air — 

 The groves, the liclds rcjoice, 



The birds arc siuging ihere. 



The earth is in ils prime — 

 In glorious freshness drest. 



And ligbl ihe foot of time 

 Stcps o"er crealion's breasi. 



Queen of the new-boru year, 

 How beauliful art thou ! 



Ere storms or luildews sear 



Thy stnoolh and smiling brow. 



• 



Now is the ballowcd hour, 



Wheu /je, the sage, was born, 

 Wlio numbercd evi-ry flowcr 



That woos the kiss of morn : 

 Be his a varied vrcaUi , 



Of every rosy géra , 

 Thaï bends benealh ihy brealli, 



Upon ils parent stem. 



Let earth record his name, 

 The Florist of the North, 



And sing his song of famé 



When joyous Spring cornes forlh; 

 Whilst naturels gcnlle hand 



Shall gem lier form with ilowcrs, 

 His memory shall sland 



Elcrnal as her bowcrs ! 



