And his icicle fingers thawing;--

"Adieu! I'm going to the rocks and caves,
And must leave all here behind me;
Or perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves,
So deep that none can find me."

"Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!"
Said the gay young Spring, advancing;
"You may take your rest 'mid the caves and rocks,
While I o'er the earth am dancing.

"But there is not a spot where you have trod.
You hard, old clumsy fellow,--
Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod,
But I must make haste to mellow.

"I then shall carpet them o'er with grass,
To look so bright and cheering,
That none will regret having let you pass
Far out of sight and hearing.

"The fountains that you locked up so tight,
When I shall give them a sunning,
Will sparkle and play in my warmth and light,
And the streams set off to running.

"I'll speak in the earth to the palsied root,
That under your reign was sleeping;
I'll teach it the way in the dark to shoot,