The soft sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers;
And there the sister Loves, a smiling band,
Crowned with the fragrant wreaths of rosy flowers!
“And go,” she cries, “in yonder valleys rove,
With Beauty’s torch the solemn scenes illume;
Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love,
Breathe on each cheek young Passion’s tender bloom!
“Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft control,
To sway the hearts of Freedom’s darling kind!
With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom’s soul,