Speak in those deep-toned murmurs? Aye! not less
’Tis sweetly uttered in the wild bird’s note,
That upward with its hymn of joy and love
Soars to the clear blue sky. The heaving ground
Robed in its verdant mantle—the cool spring
That gushes forth its joy, and sends abroad
A radiant blessing to the thirsty earth—
The glowing flowers that throng its mossy brink,
Shedding their perfumes to the breezes round—
Are redolent of her. Who then would seek