|A tyrant hears birth tidings of a child,
Whom prophecy has destined for his throne;
With mingled scorn and apprehension wild,
He vows her death or ever she be grown.
He summons all his fury and assails
With frigid wrath the sweet and fragile maid,
His cruel art mysteriously fails;
Her very youth protects her from his blade.
And see, his onslaught is his own defeat;
For Nature's gallant Knighthood charges forth___
The Sun and South Wind and the Early Heat___
And drive him to his fastness in the North.
Thus fades one Monarch in another's dawn;
While man and nature with glad voices sing:
"Begone, King Winter, may you long begone!
All hail beloved Queen, the virgin Spring."