SPR?NG . T h CSS OMS, .TTC. -01 



SPRING BLOSSOMS TO THE 

 MOURNER. 



THOU bririgest violets in thy hand, 

 Sweet Spring. Thy gifts how vain 



To soothe us for those fair, bl&quot;e eyes, 

 That ope no more again 



Thou bringest music of the birds, 



As if such strain could pay 

 For their melodious speech, who sank 



From our lone bowers away. 



Thou showerest breathing roses roun|J, 

 To blush on beauty s breast ; 



Give back ! give back those lips of rose, 

 That to our own were prest. 



