FLORA AND THALIA; 



OH, 



GEMS OF FLOWERS AND POETFvY. 



AN ODE TO SPRING. 



Now the golden morn aloft 



Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 

 With vermeil cheek, and whisper soft, 



She wooes the tardy spring ; 

 Till April starts, and calls around 

 The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; 

 And Ughtly, o'er the living scene. 

 Scatters his freshest tend' rest green. 



New-born flocks, in rustic dance. 

 Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 

 Forgetful of their wintry trance, 

 The birds his presence greet. 

 But chief the skylark warbles high 

 His trembling thrilling ecstasy. 

 And lessening from the dazzled sight, 

 Melts into air and liquid light. 



