Weaving o’er all things a magical spell.
All through the long frosty winter they slept,
Nature above them her kind vigils kept;
Snugly tucked into their beds soft and warm,
Every sweet flower was safe from all storm.
Spring, with her musical voice, is now heard
Calling: “Good morning,” to flower and bird;
Singing: “Awaken, my darlings, ’t is time,
Winter has gone to some far-distant clime.
Come from the valley and hillside and glen,—