Or by that sweet sun westering o’er the hill
Allured, or for he thinks melodious mirth
Due to the holy season of Christ’s birth.—
And hark! as his clear fluting fills the air,
Low broken notes and twitterings you may hear
From other emulous birds, the brakes among;
Fain would they also burst into a song;
But winter warns, and muffling up their throats,
They liquid—for the spring—preserve their notes.
O sweet preluding! having heard that strain,