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A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | ||
110
SONG.
First Bard.[1]
Ye southern gales, that ever flyIn frolic April's vernal train,
Who, as ye skim along the sky,
Dip your light pinions in the main,
Then shake them fraught with genial show'rs,
O'er blooming Flora's primrose bow'rs:
2
Now cease awhile your wanton sport,Now drive each threat'ning cloud away;
Then to the flow'ry vale resort,
And hither all its sweets convey;
And ever as ye dance along,
With soft murmurs aid our song.
A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | ||