 | Philomela |  |
164
SONG.
He's gone the bright Way, that his Honour directs him,O! all ye kind Powers, let me beg you protect him:
He's gone, my dear Strephon, and left me here mourning,
But hang these dull Thoughts, I'll fancy him returning:
Returning, I'll think the great Hero, Victorious,
With Joy to my Arms, as faithful as glorious:
Against his bright Eyes, I am sure there's no standing;
He looks like a God, and moves as commanding.
With a Face so Angelic the Foe will be charmed,
The Conquest were his, tho' he met 'em disarm'd.
They could not be, sure, of a rational Nature,
That wou'd not relent at so moving a Feature.
165
And spar'd from the Sense of a generous Duty.
Yet when I reflect on the Wounded and Dying,
In Spite of my Courage, it sets me a sighing.
But the resolute Brave no Danger can stay him,
Tho' I us'd all my Charms, all my Arts to delay him.
Yet O! ye kind Powers, you are bound to protect him,
Since he's gone the bright Way that Glory directs him.
| Philomela | |