74
EASTER-DAY
IN A MOUNTAIN CHURCH-YARD.
There is a wakening on the mighty hills,
A kindling with the spirit of the morn!
Bright gleams are scatter'd from the thousand rills,
And a soft visionary hue is born
On the young foliage, worn
By all the imbosom'd woods—a silvery green,
Made up of spring and dew, harmoniously serene.
And lo! where floating through a glory, sings
The lark, alone amidst a crystal sky!
Lo! where the darkness of his buoyant wings,
Against a soft and rosy cloud on high,
Trembles with melody!
