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WHEN the warm sun, that brings
'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with brigh
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And, when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star
Inverted in the tide,
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
Sweet April!-many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.
WITH What a glory comes and goes the year!
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.
There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,