« ПредишнаНапред »
Think then how often love we've made
§ 7. A Pastoral Elegy. To you, when all those tunes were play'd. With a fa, &c.
AH, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu!
By love and first nature allied, In justice you cannot refuse
Together in fondness we grew; so think of our distress;
Ah, would we together had died ! When we for hopes of honour lose
For thy faith, which resembled my own, Our certain happiness:
For thy soul, which was spotless and truc, All those designs are but to prove
For the joys we together have known, Ourselves more worthy of your love.
Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, adieu ! With a fa, &c.
What bliss can hercafter be mine? And now we've told you all our loves,
Whomever engaging I see, And likewise all our fears;
To his friendship I ne'er can incline, In hopes this declaration moves
For fear I should mourn him like thee. Some pity for our tears ;
Though the Muses should crown me with an, Let's hear of no inconstancy,
Though honour and fortune thould join; We have too much of that at sea.
Since thou art denied to my heart, With a fa, &c.
What bliss can hereafter be mine?
Ah Damon, dear shepherd, farewel! $ 5. Song Lord LANSDOWNE. Thy grave with lad osiers I 'll bind; WHY, cruel creature, why so bent Though no more in one cottage we dwell, To vex a tender heart
I can keep thee for ever in mind. To gold and title you relent;
Each morning I'll visit alone Love throws in vain his dart.
His alhes who lov'd me so well,
And murmur each eve o'er his stone, Let glittering fops in courts be great,
“ Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, farewel !" For pay let armies move : Beauty should have no other bait But gentle vows and love.
$ 8. Song
MOORE. If on those endless charms you lay
HARK ! hark! tis a voice from the tomb ! The value that's their due;
Come, Lucy, it cries, come away; Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
The grave of thy Colin has room A thousand worlds too few.
To reft thee beside his cold clay.
I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu!
I haste to my Colin's dark hoine, Ah, Celia ! if true love's your price,
To die on his bosom so true.
All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, sad Lucy arose;
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bofom embrac'd the cold ground; To tell the woods his care;
While stormy winds over her blew, Begone (faid he), fond thoughts, begone ! And night-ravens çroak'd all around. Eyes, give your forrows o'er!
How long, my lov'd Colin, she cried, Why should you waste your tears for one How long must thy Lucy complain : Who thinks on you nu more!
How long thall the grave my love hide?
How long ere it join us again?
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd, Can tell how many tender hours
With thee o'er the world would the fly , We here have pass’d in love!
For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd, Yon stars above (my cruel foes !)
For thee would she lie down and die. Have heard how she has sworn,
Alas! what avails it how dear A thousand times, that like to those
Thy Lucy was once to her swain !
Her face like the lily so fair,
that But, since shee's lost, o let me have
gave light to the plain!
The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,
That face and those eyes charm no more And there for ever lie :
And Lucy, forgot and alone,
To death shall her Colin deplore. Sad nightingales the watch shall keep,
While thus the lay funk in despair, And kindly here complain.
And mourn'd to the echoes around, Then down the thepherd lay to sleep,
Inflam'd all at once grey the air, But never rose again,
And thunder shouk dreadful the ground.
'Twas when she feas were
I hear the kind call, and obey,
O! when these fair perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infeft,
And robs my wounded soul of reft,
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.
In vain with love our bosoms glow :
Can all our tears, can all our fighs,
New luftre to those charms impart ?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art ?
Speak not of fate :-ah! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom :
'Tis all a cloud, 'uis all a dream;
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Beauty has such refiftless power,
That even the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!
But ah ! sweet maid, my counsel hear
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage):
While music charms the ravith'd ear;
While sparkling cups delight our eyes,
Be gay; and scom the frowns of age.
What cruel answer have I heard !
And yet, by heaven, I love thee ftill:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yer say, how fell that bitter word
these rocks discover, That lurk beneath the deep,
From lips which streams of sucetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey lip?
Go boldly forth, my fimple lay,
Whose accents Aow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels lay;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.
His floating corpse she fpied;
§ 11. Song.
ARD by the hall, our master's house,
Where Mersey flows to meet the main
Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose § 10. A Perpan Song of Hafiz.
A lover to complain ;
my fight, Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head';
Viewing the footsteps in the sand
Which a bright nymph had made.
The tide, said ho, will soon erase
The marks so lightly here impreft;
But time or tide will ne'er deface
Her image in my breast.
Am I some savage beast of prey ?
Am I some horrid monster grown?
That thus the fies so swift away,
Or ineets me with a frown
That bosom soft, that lily skin
With faltering voice she wecping said: (Trust not the faireft outside show)
o Dawson, monarch of my heart, Contains a marble heart within,
Think not thy death fall end our loves, A rock hid under snow.
For thou and I will never part. Ah me! the flints and pebbles wound
Yer might sweet mercy find a place, Her tender feet, froin whence there fell
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, Those crimson drops which stain the ground, O George, without a pray’r for thee And beautify each ihell.
My orisons should never close. Ah! fair one, moderate thy flight,
The gracious prince that gave him life I will no more in vain purive,
Would crown a never-dying flame ; But take my leave for a long night;
And every tender babe I bore Adieu ! lov'd maid, adieu !
Should learn to lisp the giver's name. With that, he took a running leap,'
But tho', dear youth, thou shouldft be draggd He took a lover's leap indeed,
To yonder ignominious tree; And plung'd into the founding deep,
Thou shalt not want a faithful fiiend Where hungry whes feed.
To thare thy bitter fate with thee. The melancholy hern Italks by;
then her mourning coach was callid, Around the fqualling sea-gulls yell;
The scdge mov'd lowly ou before ; Aloft the croaking ravens fly,
Though borne in her triumphal car, And toll his funeral bell.
She had not lov'd her favourite more. The waters roll above his head,
She follow'd him, prepar'd to view The billows toss it o'er and o'er;
The terrible behests of law; His ivory bones lie fcattered,
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes And whiten all the shore.
With calm and fteadfast the faw. § 12. Song. Jemmy Darfon". SHENSTONE. Distorted was :hat blooming face,
Which she had fondly lov'd so long; COME iiften to my mournful tale,
And filled was that runeful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly fung;
And sever'd was that beantcous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'&; Do thou a pensive ear incline ;
And mangled was that beauteous breaft, For thou canst weep at every woe,
On which her love-fick head repos'd ; And pity every plaint, but mine.
And ravish'd was that constant heart, Young Dawson was a gallant youth,
She did to every heart prefer; A brighter never trod the plain;
For, though it could its king forget, And well he lov’d one charming maid,
'Twas true and loyal still to her. And dearly was he lov'd again.
Amid those unrelenting flames One tender maid the lov'd him dear,
She bore this constant heart to fee; Of gentle blood the damsel came :
But when 'twas moulder'd intu duft, And faultless was her beauteous form,
Now, now, she cried, I follow thec. And spotless was her virgin fame.
My death, my death, alone can fhew But curse on party's hateful ftrife,
pure That led the favour'd youth astray!
and lasting love I bore :
Accepit, o Heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.
The difinal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mouroful hearse retir'd; And now he must that death endure
The maid drew back her languid head, Which gives the brave the keenest wound. And, lighing forth his name, expir’d. How pale was then his true-love's check, Though justice ever must prevail,
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For never yet did Alpine snows
For seldom shall the hear a tale So pale, or yet so chill, appear.
So sad, so tender, and so true. * Captain James Dawson, the amiable and unfortunate fubje&t of these beautiful ftanzas, was one of the pight officers, belonging to the Manchester Regiment of volunteers, in the service of the Young Chevalier, wka were hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington-common, in 1746 : and this ballad, written about the time, is founded on a remarkable circumitance which actually happened at his execution. Just before his dcath he wrote a song on his own misfortunes, which is suppoled to be ftill extance
§ 13. Song. A Morning Piece: or, a Hymn for Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move, the Hay-makers.
SMART. This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her;
The devil take her.
§ 15. Song: Humpbrey Gublin's Courtship.
A Courting I went to my love,
Who is Tweeter than roles in May;
The devil a word could I say.
There fully intending to woo her;
If of love I said any thing to her.
I clasp'd her hand close to my breast,
my heart was as light as a feather;
Yct nothing I said, I protett,
But-Madam, 'tis very fine weather.
To an arbour I did her attend,
She ask'd me to come and fit by her ;
I crept to the furthermost end,
For I was afraid to come nigh her.
I ask'd her which way was the wind,
For I thought in some talk we must enter:
Why, Sir, (snc answer'd, and grinn'd), 'The abbey-bells, in wak’ning rounds,
Have you just sent your wits for a venture ?
Then I follow'd her into the house,
There I vow'd I my passion would try ;
But there I was still as a mouse :
O what a dull booby was I !
All alive o'er the lawn,
$ 16: Song: The Despairing Lover. Wals. The little lambkins play;
DISTRACTED with care,
For Phillis the fair;
Since nothing could move her,
Poor Damun, her lover,
Resolves in despair
No longer to languish,
Nor bear so much anguilh ;
But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes;
Where a leap from above
Would soon finish his woes.
When in rage he came there,
Beholding how steep
The fides did appear,
And the bottom how deepi
That a lover forsaken
A new love may get;
But a neck, when once broken,
Can never be set :
And that he could die
Whenever he would ;
But that he could live
But as long as he could:
How grievous foever
The torment might grow,
He scoru'd to endeavour
To finish it fo.
But bold, unconcern'd,
But Heaven will take the mourner's part, At thoughts of the pain,
In pity to despair; He calmly return'd
And the last figh that rends the heart To his cottage again.
Shall waft the spirit there.
§ 17. Song:
§ 19. Song. The Lass of the Hill. A Cobler there was, and he kv'd in a stall,
Miss MARY JOXES. Which serv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and hall,
N the brow of a hill a young lhepherdess No coin in his pocket, no care in his pate,
dwelt, No ambition had he, nor duns at his gate. Who no pangs of ambition or love had e'er felt; Derry down, down, down, derry down.
For a few rober maxims still ran in her head, Contented he work'd, and he thought himself. That 'twas better to earn ere lhe ate her brown
(napry: If at night he could purchase a jug of brown That to rise with the lark was conducive to health, How he's laugh then, and whistle, and fing too, And, to folks in a cottage, contentment was wealth most sweer!
Now young Roger, who liv'd in the valley below, Saying. Juftto a hair I have made both ends meet! Who at church and at market was reckon'd a beau, Derry down, down, &c.
Had many times tried o'er her heart to prevail,
And would reft on his pitchfork to tell her his tale: But love, the disturber of high and of low, That shoots at the peasant as well as the beau ;
With nis winning behaviour he melted her heart;
But, quite artless herself, the suspected no art. He shot the poor cobler quite thorough the heart; I wish he had hit some more ignoble part.
He had sighd, and protested, had kneelid, and Derry down, down, &c.
implor'd, It was from a cellar this archer did play,
And could lye with the grandeur and air of a lord: Where a buxom young damsel continually lay ;
Then her eyes he cominended in language well dressid,
(breast; Her eyes shone so bright when the rose every day, And enlargʻd on the torments that troubled his That she shot the poor cobler quite over the way. Till his fighs and his tears had so wrought on her Derry down, down, &c.
mind, He sung her love-songs as he sat at his work, That in downright compassion to love she inclin'd. But she was as hard as a Jew or a Turk:
But as soon as he'd melted the ice of her breaft, Whenever he spake the would Aounce and would all the flames of his love in a moment decreas d;
fleer, Which put the poor cobler quite into despair.
And at noon he goes flaunting all over the vale,
Where he boasts of his conquest to Sufan and Nells Derry down, down, &c.
Tho' he sees her but seldom, he 's always in hafie, He took up his awl that he had in the world, And if ever he mentions her, makes her his jeft. And to make away with himself was resolv'd; He pierc'd through his body instead of the folc, And her thoughts are so pester’d, the scarce earus
All the day the goes fighing, and hanging her head, So the cobler he died, and the bell it did toll.
her bread; Derry down, down, &c.
The whole village cries shame,when a-milking the And now, in good will, I advise, as a friend,
goes, All coblers, take warning by this cobler's end : That fo little affection is shewn to the cows : Kcep your hearts out of love, for we find by But she heeds not their railing, e'en let them railon, what's past
And a fig for the cows now her sweethcart is gone. That love brings us all to an end at the last.
Now beware, ye young virgins of Britain's gay ille, Derry down, down, down, derry down.
Howv ye vield up a heart to a look or a smile :
For Cupid is ariful, and virgins are frail,
'll find a false Roger in every vale, you
Who to court you, and tempt you, will try all his WHEN Damon languish”d at my feet, And I believ'd him true,
But remember The lass on the brow of the hill. The moments of delight how sweet!
But ah! how swift they flew ! The funny hill, the flow'ry vale, The garden, and the grove,
§ 20. Sorg. BAKTON BOOTH, Eg. Have echoed to his ardent tale,
SW And vows of endless love.
WEET are the charms of her I love,
More fragrant than the damask rose,
Gentle as air when Zephyr blows,
Refrething as descending rains And measure time by pain.
To sun-burnt clines and thirsty plains