With his old white wig half off his head,
And his icicle fingers thawing;—
"Adieu! I'm going to the rocks and caves,
And must leave all here behind me;
Or perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves,
So deep that none can find me."
"Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!"
Said the gay young Spring, advancing;
"You may take your rest 'mid the caves and rocks,
While I o'er the earth am dancing.