From the leaves of the rose-bud, from the violet’s cell,
From the depths of the fuchia, they merrily sprung;
A thousand seemed hid in the jessamine’s bell,
And e’en on the bachelor’s-button they hung.
Away they all sped with the swiftness of thought,
To form a bright court for their lovely young queen,
Who, borne on the wings of a zephyr, was brought
To grace with her presence their dance on the green.
I saw them then dance around an old oak,
To the sound of that heart-stirring strain,