114 e:oi»5itj. 
Oh ! fragrant dwellers of the lea, 
When first the wildwood rings 
With each sound of vernal minstrelsy, 
When fresh the green grass springs 1 
What can the blessed spring restore 
More gladdening than your charms ? 
Bringing the memory once more 
Of lovely fields and farms ! 
Of thickets, breezes, birds, and flowers ; 
Of life's unfolding prime ; 
Of thoughts as cloudless as the hours ; 
Of souls without a crime. 
Oh ! blessed, blessed do ye seem. 
For, even now, I turned. 
With soul athirst for wood and stream. 
From streets that glared and burned. 
From the hot town, where mortal care 
His crowded fold doth pen ; 
Where stagnates the polluted air 
In manj'^ a sultry den. 
And ye are here ! and ye are here ! 
Drinking the dew-like wine, 
Midst living gales and waters clear, 
And heaven's unstinted shine. 
I care not that your little life 
Will quickly have run through. 
And the sward, vrith summer children rife. 
Keep not a trace of you. 
For again, again, on dewy plain, 
I trust to see you rise, 
When spring renews the wildwood strain. 
And bluer "-leam the skies. 
