Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.

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.

The balmy zephyrs, silent since her death, Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath.

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.