CHORUS.

Gently come! feel no alarm,

On a noble duty bent;
Vanish'd now is ev'ry charm

That by magic power was lent.
Friendly words and greetings calm
On his wounds will pour soft balm.

Fill his mind with sweet content.

Hark! the turtle-dove is calling,

And the nightingale replies;
Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling,

Mingling with their melodies.

But all of them say:

Her only we mean;
But all fly away,

As soon as she's seen,—
The beauteous young maiden,

With graces so rife,

Then lily and rose

In wreaths are entwining;

In dancing combining,
Each zephyr that blows

Its brother is greeting,

All flying and meeting,
With balsam full laden,

When waken'd to life.