University of Virginia Library

II. PART II

OVERTURE PASTORALE

MAN SPEAKER
Fast by that shore where Thames' translucent stream
Reflects new glories on his breast,
Where, splendid as the youthful poet's dream,
He forms a scene beyond Elysium blest;
Where sculptured elegance and native grace
Unite to stamp the beauties of the place;
While sweetly blending still are seen
The wavy lawn, the sloping green;
While novelty, with cautious cunning,
Through every maze of fancy running,
From China borrows aid to deck the scene;
There, sorrowing by the river's glassy bed,
Forlorn, a rural bard complained,
All whom Augusta's bounty fed,
All whom her clemency sustained.
The good old sire, unconscious of decay,
The modest matron, clad in homespun gray,
The military boy, the orphaned maid,
The shattered veteran, now first dismayed:
These sadly join beside the murmuring deep,
And, as they view the towers of Kew,
Call on their mistess, now no more, and weep.

CHORUS
Ye shady walks, ye waving greens,
Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes,
Let all your echoes now deplore
That she who formed your beauties is no more.

MAN SPEAKER
First of the train the patient rustic came,
Whose callous hand had formed the scene,
Bending at once with sorrow and with age,
With many a tear and many a sigh between:
‘And where,’ he cried, ‘shall now my babes have bread,
Or how shall age support its feeble fire?
No lord will take me now, my vigour fled,
Nor can my strength perform what they require;
Each grudging master keeps the labourer bare;
A sleek and idle race is all their care.
My noble mistress thought not so:
Her bounty, like the morning dew,
Unseen, though constant, used to flow;
And as my strength decayed, her bounty grew.’

WOMAN SPEAKER
In decent dress and coarsely clean,
The pious matron next was seen;
Clasped in her hand a godly book was borne,
By use and daily meditation worn;
That decent dress, this holy guide,
Augusta's care had well supplied.
‘And ah!’ she cries, all woe-begone,
‘What now remains for me?
Oh! where shall weeping want repair,
To ask for charity?
Too late in life for me to ask,
And shame prevents the deed,
And tardy, tardy are the times
To succour, should I need.
But all my wants, before I spoke,
Were to my mistress known;
She still relieved nor sought my praise,
Contented with her own.
But every day her name I'll bless,
My morning prayer, my evening song,
I'll praise her while my life shall last,
A life that cannot last me long.’

SONG, BY A WOMAN
Each day, each hour, her name I'll bless,
My morning and my evening song;
And when in death my vows shall cease,
My children shall the note prolong.

MAN SPEAKER
The hardy veteran after struck the sight,
Scarred, mangled, maimed in every part,
Lopped of his limbs in many a gallant fight,
In nought entire—except his heart.
Mute for a while and sullenly distressed,
At last the impetuous sorrow fired his breast.
‘Wild is the whirlwind rolling
O'er Afric's sandy plain,
And wild the tempest howling
Along the billowed main:
But every danger felt before,
The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar,
Less dreadful struck me with dismay
Than what I feel this fatal day.
Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave,
Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave;
I'll seek that less inhospitable coast,
And lay my body where my limbs were lost.’

SONG, BY A MAN
Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Crecy's laurelled field,
To do thy memory right;
For thine and Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish the avenging fight.

WOMAN SPEAKER
In innocence and youth complaining,
Next appeared a lovely maid,
Affliction o'er each feature reigning,
Kindly came in beauty's aid;
Every grace that grief dispenses,
Every glance that warms the soul,
In sweet succession charmed the senses,
While pity harmonized the whole.
‘The garland of beauty’—'tis thus she would say—
‘No more shall my crook or my temples adorn;
I'll not wear a garland—Augusta's away—
I'll not wear a garland until she return.
But alas! that return I never shall see;
The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim;
There promised a lover to come—but, O me!
'Twas death, 'twas the death of my mistress that came.
But ever, for ever, her image shall last;
I'll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom;
On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new-blossomed thorn shall whiten her tomb.’

SONG, BY A WOMAN

CHORUS
On the grave of Augusta this garland be placed;
We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom,
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.