Of music round you. O! across the soul
Will come the freshness of its dewy Spring;
And ye shall leap toward the destined goal,
And snatch the victor’s garland; while there ring,
Through the arena, shouts of kindly welcoming!
So live, that when upon the voiceless air
Shall come the echoes of your passing bell,
From the lone minster, they to you shall bear
Sweet thoughts and pleasant memories—the dell
Where grew the violets, shall, like a spell,