1827] To the Zephyrs. 267 



And winter's frowns by you are never seen, 

 Whose influence lays all Nature's beauty low 

 Where fields are all in flower, and groves still green, 

 And, but your sweet breath, not a wind can blow. 

 Ye 're ever found and as the fountains flow, 

 . And brooks around with chiming murmurs play, 

 Ye waft the soft sounds on your wings away, 

 Mingled with all the music of the grove, 

 Where thousand throats are warbling all the day 

 Their choral symphonies of joy and love. 

 Soon as with fragrant kisses ye awake 

 Your mother, young Aurora she whose smile 

 Glads the green earth your joyous flight ye take 

 To visit every lovelier scene awhile : 

 Forth from her bosom with the winged hours, 

 Through summer realms of life, and light, and joy, 

 Ye go and gathering from the opening flowers 

 A balm for Beauty's breath, is your employ ; 

 And whether along the sunny shores of Nile, 

 Or through the balmy fields of Araby, 

 Or in the bosom of some ancient isle, 

 Your gentle mission all unweariedly 

 Ye oft pursue, or to our steamy vales, 

 Where vernal sweets invite, as now, ye stay, 

 Ye still are blest. Oh \ would I might partake 

 Of your invisible being, and this clay 

 That loads the buoy ant spirit henceforth forsake, 

 And as I list light wing myself away, 

 In endless pastime, o'er the hills and dales! 

 Then, when the milk maid roamed in morning gay, 

 Or lovers met at eve to tell their tales, 

 I would be present, or to hear her lay, 

 Or listen to the tender vows they made j 

 And I would waft the first sound to their ear 

 Of hated spy, or loiterer wandering near, 

 With ill-timed visit lo profane the shade. 

 Oft, too, should deeds of mercy me engage, 

 When to imprisoned beauty's joyless bower, 

 With vernal fragrance at the morning hour, 

 I'd fly a welcome visitor and the dew 

 Of heaven around her lattice I would strew ; 

 And when I saw her pining cheeks presage 

 Of early dissolution, I would come 

 With every soft aerial melody 

 That charmed the groves, to hymn her spirit home ; 

 And when beneath the willow she was laid, 

 Long would I linger in the pensive shade, 

 And whisper all unseen her elegy. H. B. 



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