But Time, whom monarchs must obey,
Now melts this frozen pomp away;
Sending his harbingers the hours
Before, to speak for fragrant bowers;
Bidding the green-rob'd Spring come forth,
And strike the Tyrant of the north.
With lightsome foot they steal away,
And find her with her birds at play;
Pouring such songs in the young ear,
As suit the season of the year.