 | Erato, number II |  |
57
THE ZEPHYRAND THE ROSE-BUD.
ALLEGORY—MUSIC, THOMAS' ‘ANDANTE.’
A Zephyr, one morn, with a Rose-bud in love,
Look'd from his pavilion of brightness above,
And seeing the delicate Rose-bud beneath,
Resolv'd now his vows of devotion to breath:
Well knowing the pow'r of a splendid array,
He stole the first sunbeam he met in his way;
Then under a beautiful cascade he flew,
And emerg'd all bespangled with glittering dew.
Look'd from his pavilion of brightness above,
And seeing the delicate Rose-bud beneath,
Resolv'd now his vows of devotion to breath:
Well knowing the pow'r of a splendid array,
He stole the first sunbeam he met in his way;
Then under a beautiful cascade he flew,
And emerg'd all bespangled with glittering dew.
Thus splendid drest, and thus richly besprent,
On his way to the garden he hastily went;
And soon by the fair, blushing Rose-bud appears—
Her cheeks wet with dew-drops—like Beauty in tears.
In a moment his lips to the fair one's he prest,
And words of deep fondness and passion addrest:
She loves, but a maidenly modesty shows,
And her half-open'd leaves in an instant re-close.
On his way to the garden he hastily went;
And soon by the fair, blushing Rose-bud appears—
Her cheeks wet with dew-drops—like Beauty in tears.
In a moment his lips to the fair one's he prest,
And words of deep fondness and passion addrest:
She loves, but a maidenly modesty shows,
And her half-open'd leaves in an instant re-close.
But he presses his suit, and gives voice to his woe;
Vows, raves, and entreats her some favor bestow:
She, pure, unsuspecting, deems him also true,
And, opening her leaves, spreads her charms to his view.
But false were the vows that he made the fair Flow'r—
And she wept, but too late, 'neath his ravishing pow'r:
Of her fragrance he rifled his beautiful prey,
And the poor Rose soon faded, and withered away.
Vows, raves, and entreats her some favor bestow:
She, pure, unsuspecting, deems him also true,
And, opening her leaves, spreads her charms to his view.
But false were the vows that he made the fair Flow'r—
And she wept, but too late, 'neath his ravishing pow'r:
Of her fragrance he rifled his beautiful prey,
And the poor Rose soon faded, and withered away.
| Erato, number II | |