Swiftly from the mountain's brow, Shadows nurs'd by night retire; And the peeping sunbeams now Paint with gold the village spire. Sweet, oh sweet the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray; Nature's universal song Echoes to the rising day.
Swiftly from the mountain's brow, Shadows nurs'd by night retire; And the peeping sunbeams now Paint with gold the village spire. Sweet, oh sweet the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray; Nature's universal song Echoes to the rising day.