Shed all their sweets to the mountain air.
"It plays round the bank and the mossy stone,
Where the violet droops like a nun alone;
Shrouding her eyes from the noon-tide glare,
But breathing her soul to the mountain-air.
"It gives to my spirits a tone of mirth--
I bound with joy o'er the new-dress'd earth,
When spring has scatter'd her blossoms there,
And laden with balm the mountain air.
"From nature's fountain my nectar flows,