The Eolian harp

Come thou sweet Eolian lyre,

breathe responsive to my song;

love shall wake the vocal quire

round thy tuneful chords to throng.

Fann'd by Zephyr's panting gale

let thy music float around;

I thy magic spirit hail

with thy numbers to resound.

No discordance shall deform

thy soft melancholy string,

every harsh and ruffling storm

sweeps away thy powers to sing.

Thus my Muse delights to tell,

all thy heav'nly strains convey

as thy notes melodious swell

or in murmurs die away.