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From Eight Glees expressly composed for ladies, Op. 4.

Lyrics: Hafez(trans. Nott)

Balmy gale, I prithee say
Whence those wings in fragrance dyed,
O'er my love you chanced to stray;
She the perfum'd treat supplied.

Balmy gale, such thefts forbear;
Other sports from hence pursue,
With the tresses of her hair
What have you, O gale, to do?

Yield Narcissus: in her eye
See what tipsy brightness swims;
There delicious languors lie
Drooping grief your lustre dims.

Wisdom, were you left to choose
What is sweetest, what is best;
All things else you would refuse,
If with her you might be blest.
Page 1 of 5

Richard John Samuel Stevens
(1757 - 1837)

Balmy gale, I prithee say


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