Classic Poem

TO THE ZEPHYRS.

Ye! before whose genial breath,
Hovering Death,
Girt with troops of wan diseases,
Quits the usurp'd domain of air;
Where, oh! where
Linger ye, propitious breezes?

Hither, where my languid maid
Wooes your aid,
Come, with balmy spirit blowing;
Gentle harbingers of Spring,
Hither bring
Health in rosy beauty glowing,

Bright-eyed Joy to Youth allied
At her side;
While with giddy gesture after
Trip gay Sports of wilder glance,
Tiptoe Dance,
Dimpled Smiles and sleek-brow'd Laughter:

Joy-born Mirth shall lead the train;
Soon again
Her each sprightlier Love shall follow,
All who from the front defy,
All who lie
In the dimple's treacherous hollow.

So your praise my song shall tell;
So my shell
Pour to you the liquid measures;
Soft as when your downy wings
Fan the strings,
Murmu'ring sweetly-pensive pleasures.

Ah! no such reward you seek;
O'er that cheek
Blushing if she meet my gazes,
O'er that bosom's living snow
Free to go,
Little you regard my praises.

Yet, if to my sober ear
Ever dear
Sound your voices sadly sighing,
Where from lonely shades my grief
Courts relief,
To your airy woe replying;

Mindful now, in amorous play
Boldly gay
As around her charms ye hover;
Oh! in whisper'd sighs reveal
What I feel,
What to you alone discover.