G.R.C.
The spring has waved her sunny wing
Upon the verdant earth,
And winds from distant, places bring
The festal tones of mirth;
The sky appears an azure field,
With clouds emblazoned like a shield.
A golden light has touched the woods,
And o'er the silent dell
A languid breathless quiet broods,
Scarce broken by the swell
Of streams that whisper through the air,
As if they were awaked to pray'r.
Survey the lovely scene around,
The river beams in gold,
Its rippling waves with song resound,
And rainbow light unfold,
And as the flow'rs unclose their eyes,
Their hue seems coloured by the skies.
The mould'ring church on yonder slope,
Perchance by heaven designed
To consecrate the heart with hope,
In ivy-wreaths is shrined:
Its rural tombs are green with age,
And types of earthly pilgrimage.
On this delightful vernal day,
In scenes so rich and fair,
The spirit feels a hallow'd ray
Kindling its essence there;
And Fancy haunts the mourner's urn,
"With thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."
Deal.