That sung and flew o'er icy vales
And climbed the hills as fleet as gales,
Like singing phantoms died the days;
Or then with coat and muffler warm
Sweet children glided on the lake,
Or chased the rabbit through the brake,
In winters on the olden farm.
How glad the joys at eventide
When 'round the hearth-stone's pleasant heat
The simple song in music sweet