New-York, July 27, 1796.
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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._
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_Lines sent to a Young Lady with an Æolian Harp._
Ye zephyrs who delighted stray
O’er every grace which Flora wears,
Hither direct your airy way,
For worthier scenes demand your cares.
Within these strings, in soft suspense,
The latest powers of music rest;
Oh, draw their tendered accent hence
To soothe and charm my Sally’s breast.
Should sorrow ever enter there,
(For merit is no shield from woe)
Disperse the Demons of despair,
And teach the softening tear to flow.
And e’en when rapture’s maniac train,
Shall wildly seize the impassion’d soul,
O, let some sweetly-plaintive strain,
The blissful agony control.
The feeling bosom illy bears
The dire extremes of grief and joy,
For anguish every sense impairs,
And cruel “transports oft destroy.”
And still each pensive hour to cheer,
Let friendship raise her gentle voice;
And when she seeks a friend sincere,
Direct to me the envied choice.