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The first sweet warbler of the Spring,
That loves the. opening day, Arose on bright and glittering wing,
And 'woke his morning lay. The flower look'd up with glowing cheek.
And spread its petals fair, Breathing around its odours sweet
Upon the morning air.
And 0! thought I, the glorious sun
That sunk to rest at night, Has put his robes of grandeur on,
His coronet of light; And shall not youth's bright morning sun,
Though early set in gloom, Shall it not rise in Spring's bright morn,
And burst the dreary tomb ?
Spring's gentle breath recalls the bird,
That fled from Autumn's reign ; Its minstrelsy, so long unheard,
Enchants the ear again; But those who, like the songster, fled,
In fairer climes to sing, Who for the sky their pinions spread,
Return not with the Spring.
And the sweet flower, that wither'd lay Long in its wintry tomb,