THE LOVELY DELIA SMILES AGAIN. WILLIAM SHENSTONE. The lovely Delia smiles again! That killing frown has left her brow: Love is an April's doubtful day: And quite forget the flitting show'r. The flowers that hung their languid head, FAIR FIDELE. WILLIAM COLLINS. Born 1720-Died 1756. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each op'ning sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen; The redbreast oft, at ev'ning hours When howling winds and beating rain The tender thought on thee shall dwell; Each lonely scene shall thee restore; And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead. [To be sung by Guiderus and Arviragus, in Cymbeline over Fidele, whom they imagine dead. One copy of the song commences: 'To fair Pastora's grassy tomb.'] VO!.. I, P ARPASIA. MARK AKENSIDE. Born 1721-Died 1770. The shape alone let others prize, A damask cheek, an ivory arm, A face where awful honour shines, The tenderness of love. These are the soul of beauty's frame, And all her roses dead. But, ah! where both their charms unite, How perfect is the view; With every image of delight, With graces ever new. Of power to charm the greatest woe, Their power but faintly to express [This song is attributed to Akenside on the authority of Ritson. I find it printed in Mr. Dyce's Edition of Akenside's Poems just published, to which the Editor has added a very able and interesting account of the poet's life.] O NANCY WILT THOU GO WITH ME. THOMAS PERCY. Born 1728-Died 1811. O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town? No longer deck'd with jewels rare, O Nancy! when thou'rt far away, O can that soft and gentle mien O Nancy! canst thou love so true, Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, And when at last thy love shall die, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? [This very lovely song is the composition of Bishop Percy the wellknown Editor of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, a man who has done more for English Literature than any other half dozen antiquaries, and one who had the finest taste and the truest feeling for poetry. This, writes Burns, is "perhaps the most beautiful ballad in the English language."] |