G

X.
A S O N G.

I.
O tell Amynta, gentle swain,

I would not die, nor dare complain:
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To souls oppress’d, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;

That music should in sounds convey,
What dying lovers dare not say.

II.
A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live.
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid.
Tell her my pains fo fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress;
But ah! the wretch, that speechless lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

XL.

A S O N G TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE

TOWN IN THE SPRING.

I.
SK not the cause, why fullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;
Thy warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year:

A

Chloris

Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring, where she resides.

II.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,

To figh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

III.
Great god of love, why hast thou made

A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every

land ? Where thou hadít plac'd such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more,

IV.
When Chloris to the temple comes,

Adoring crowds before her fall; She can restore the dead from tombs, every

life but mine recal. I only am by Love design'd To be the victim for mankind,

And

XII.

SONG,
FROM MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE *.

I.
HY should a foolish marriage vow, ,

Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now,

When paffion is decay'd ?
We lov'd, and we lov'd, as long as we could,

Till our love was lov’d out of us both; But our marriage is dead, when the pleasures are fled; 'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

II.
If I have pleasures for a friend,

And farther love in store,
What wrong has he, whose joys did end,
And who could give no more?

'Tis a madness that he

Should be jealous of me,
Or that I should bar him of another:

For all we can gain

Is to give ourselves pain,
When neither can hinder the other.

* There are several excellent songs in his “ King Arthur:” which should have been copied, but that they are so interwoven with the story of the drama that it would be improper to separate them. There is also a song in “ Love in a Nunnery;" and another in “ The Duke of Guise ;'' but neither of them worth transcribing.

N.

SONG,

is young

A

H, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay

desire! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach love's fire !

Pains of love be sweeter far

Than all other pleasures are.
Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
E’en the tears they shed alone
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart.

Lovers, when they lose their breath,

Bleed away in eafy death.
Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend:
Nor the golden gifts refuse
Which in youth fincere they fend:
For each

year

their price is more,
And they less simple than before.
Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein :
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink-in again:

If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

XIV.
ALEXANDER'S FEAST:

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.
AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY,

I.
"TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:
Aloft in awful state
The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound.

(So should desert in arms be crown'd:)
The lovely Thais, by his fide,
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the faira.

CHORU S.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.

II.
Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The