(For the Mirror.)
My dearest Sir, how great a change
Has pass'd upon the groves I range,
Nay, all the face of nature!
A few weeks back, each pendent bough,
The fields, the groves, the mountain's brow,
Were bare and leafless all, but now
How verdant ev'ry feature!
Each little songster strives to raise
Its highest warbling notes of praise,