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132 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
I thought to wander merrily, With the bird and singing bee,
But, alas, alas! Clouds have gather'd—winds grow chill— All is dark, and cold, and still—
Hark the dismal blast!
Why do tempests ever gather
In the bright and glad spring weather,
When all nature smiles ? Why the sun not always shine, Cheering, with his rays divine,
Fields and woody dells ?
Why ? Ah soon! how very soon, These bright and sunny days alone
Would the meadows sear; And make the little brooks shrink back From their winding, pebbly track,
As if smit with fear I
Then let the chilly tempests gather; Even in the glad spring weather,
Let the storms rage wild— Quickly as they disappear, Nature's glowing face shall wear
A greener, sweeter smile.