Soon as that name was heard, the woods Shook off their snows; the melting floods Broke their cold chains, and winter fled away. Once more the earth was decked with flowers; Mild zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; High towered the glorious sun, and poured the blaze of day.

Attracted by the harmonious sound, Sylvans and fauns the cot surround, And curious crowd the minstrel to behold: The wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove; Eager they run; they list, they love, And while they hear the strain, forget the man is old.

Cupid, to nothing constant long, Perched on the harp attends the song, Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: Now on the poet’s breast reposes, Now twines his hoary locks with roses, Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.