Mount with thy glancing spears, a cohort proud,
O’er cliff and peak, and chase each threatening cloud,
Each gathering mist, away.
Fair, fragrant summer flowers,
Lily and heliotrope and spicy fern,
Exhale your sweets from leaf and petaled urn
Through all the golden hours.
Thou deep-voiced western wind,
The stately arches of the forest fill,
Till oak and elm to thy andante thrill