Classic Poem

When Zephyrinda 's softest Airs I hear,
She draws my Soul into my list'ning Ear;
Aghast I stand, unknowing where to praise,
Lost in a Maze of Joys ten thousand ways:
Sometimes I melt upon her Music's Sound,
And bless that charming Tongue that gives the Wound;
Sometimes I sighing view those magic Eyes,
Where all that's good and all that's lovely li es.
Soft panting Cupids play around the Fair,
They laugh, they peep, they think their Mother there.
But while the charming Zephyrinda sings,
They point their Darts, and wave their Silken Wings.
Floating on painted Streams they fly around,
Languish in Airs, and melt with pleasing Sound.

L IKE her sweet Orpheus sung his fleeting Love ,
Like Me attentive stood the list'ning Grove .
But now no more let Poets Orpheus praise,
Or crown his hallow'd Lyre, with greener Bays:
To Zephyrinda 's Airs and sweeter Song,
A fairer Fame, and loftier Lays belong;
He only made the Hellish-Shades admire;
Her Eyes and Music charm the Heavenly-Choir ;
And thus instructs the Soul to sing and love ,
At once the Business and the Bliss above.