Go, winds, and whisper to my fair,
Adorn'd with ev'ry pleasing grace;
Tell her this bosom pants with care,
Since I beheld her beauteous face.

Go, bid the loves that on her wait
Steal softly from her snowy breast,
And bring from her a lover's fate,
That yet may make a lover blest.

Tell her I seek the lonely vale,
And carve her name on ev'ry tree;
That Echo hears my pensive tale,
But only laughs at love and me.