University of Virginia Library

SONGS.

SONG I.

[The sighs that from her bosom part]

The sighs that from her bosom part,
Wafted by gentle Pity, shew
Louisa's warm and feeling heart,
That trembles to the touch of woe.
Oft as her charming sorrows heave,
I melt in kindred sympathy:
Yet, though, to pleasure lost, I grieve,
Louisa hath no tear for me.
The tender tale hath Edward told,
And bade the fond emotion rise—
Alas! that heart is only cold,
Is only cold—when Edward sighs!

SONG II.

[That languish of the lust'rous blue]

SONG III. THE BLUSH OF SIMPLICITY.

While Mary, conscious that she loves,
Would hide the crimson's transient hue,
She veils the blush, which only proves
A heart to Love and William true.
In erring maids, that fondly stray,
A tinge as bright as thine we see;
Yet clouded looks its source betray,
Unknown to innocence and thee.
No cloud thine eyes of candor know,
To shade their sweet expression o'er;
But, to the soft-suffusing glow,
They kindle quick, and sparkle more.
Ah! may such glances ever speak
The “Simple Blush” on Mary's cheek!

SONG IV. THE FAINTING KISS.

“Ah, faithless fair one,” Owen cries,
“How are my fondest vows repaid!
“Alas! thy bosom's secret sighs
“Heave for the swain in yonder shade.
“The Chaplet I so vainly wove
“(Ah! now no longer priz'd) restore:
“Yet, was the moment crown'd with love,
“When that dear pledge my Ellen wore.”
‘Take, take,’ she cried, ‘that pledge of bliss,
‘But first, a dearer pledge display:
‘O give me, give me back the Kiss
‘Which, then, caught all my soul away.’

SONG V.

[Though winter hath stript of its leaves]

Though winter hath stript of its leaves
Each oak that o'ershadow'd the scene;
Yon hill yet unfadingly heaves
To the breezes its bosom of green.
The eye, that hath pensively stray'd
O'er the foliage strown pale in the grove,
Return'd with delight to the shade
By the fir and the cerasus wove:
But with sweeter emotions we see
The spring's glowing verdure appear;
And we love the fresh buds of the tree
That had died in the gloom of the year.

SONG VI.

[See, Laura, how cold are the tints]

See, Laura, how cold are the tints
Of that snow-drop, afraid of the gale,
Though its delicate feebleness hints,
That spring shall soon colour the vale.
Thus sweetly, when Hymen appear'd,
Thy bashfulness sought to retire;
Yet, what it so tremblingly fear'd,
It could not but fondly desire.
And thus, though the lustre was cold
Which slept in thy languishing eye;
Thy virgin timidity told,
That the spring-time of pleasure was nigh!

SONG VIII. To Miss S*****.

Whene'er I see thy tender breast
With sickness or with grief opprest;
When thy soft looks denote too plain
How exquisite thy sense of pain;
When the tear glitters in thine eye,
For thee, sweet Marianne, I die.
Again, when health resumes its place,
And joy sits smiling on thy face;
Thy humourous wit, and spirits gay,
In frolic mazes as they stray,
Enforce me still, do what I can,
To die for thee, sweet Marianne.
When in yet happier hours I find
Thy soul to harmony inclin'd,
See thy hand touch the trembling strings,
And hear each melting sound it brings;
Then am I lost in extasy,
And die, sweet Marianne, for thee.