Classic Poem

Stay, lonely Gale, who oft receives
The strains which sorrows sad inspire;
O stay, and thro' the trembling leaves
Full softly wake the tuneful Lyre.

O waft the sound where'er she strays,
Whether by Streamlet, Hill, or Grove;
Tell her how lonesome pass the days,
Thus banished far from her I love.

Tell her, opprest with many a fear
I sigh the tedious Hours away.
Go, balmy breeze! and to her Ear
The strains which sorrow lends convey.