Winter was o'er, and spring flowers deck'd the glade;
The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung;
Ah, short-lived note! the songster now is laid
Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung.

Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent,
Are now all soil'd among the mouldering clay;
A primrosed turf is all thy monument,
And for thy dirge the Redbreast lends his lay.