From azure heights the lark's loud song
Is borne the balmy breeze along;
The robin tunes his sweetest strain,
And blithely sings his glad refrain
Of summer days and summer joys;
The tawny thrush his voice employs,
In chorus with the warbling throng,
To fill his measure of the song.
The river, too, with rippling flow,
As it winds through its banks below,