And soon Their hushing dances languished to a stand, Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.

And soften'd sounds along the waters die: Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play.

Lull'd by soft zephyrs thro' the broken pane.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.