The groves with the notes of the blackbird are ringing,
By fountain and streamlet the wild flowers are springing.
And the breath of the heather bell sweetens the breeze,
And the old stormy ocean lies slumbering in peace;
And the wild bees are humming around the wild flowers,
Afar above earth the lark proudly soars;
The bleat of the lamb on the moss-cover’d hill,
The sound of the shepherd’s pipe jocund and shrill,
All tell in a language most striking and plain,
T hat summer, fair summer, is reigning again,
The old face of nature her smiles has put on,
And the blustery appearance of winter has flown.