Poems By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston |
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SONG ALTERED FROM MOORE. |
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SONG ALTERED FROM MOORE.
Come tell me, says Rosa, (and who could resist
The wishes by Rosa express'd?)
Come tell me the number, repeat me the list,
Of those you have loved and caress'd.
The wishes by Rosa express'd?)
Come tell me the number, repeat me the list,
Of those you have loved and caress'd.
117
Oh Rosa! 'twas only my fancy that roved,
My heart at the moment was free;
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved,
And the number shall finish with thee.
My heart at the moment was free;
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved,
And the number shall finish with thee.
My first love was Chloe, the proud and the coy,
Who shrank from the flatterer's tone,
But smiled on the innocent love of a boy,
Whose heart was as pure as her own.
Who shrank from the flatterer's tone,
But smiled on the innocent love of a boy,
Whose heart was as pure as her own.
The next was Maria, a beauty and flirt,
Who smiled upon twenty and more;
We loved and we quarrell'd, and neither was hurt,
For the heart was left out of the score.
Who smiled upon twenty and more;
We loved and we quarrell'd, and neither was hurt,
For the heart was left out of the score.
Cassandra, the preacher, is third on the roll,
She reign'd for a year and a day;
But the dear theologian so puzzled my soul,
That at last I ran fairly away.
She reign'd for a year and a day;
But the dear theologian so puzzled my soul,
That at last I ran fairly away.
The fourth had a foot for the slipper of glass,
An eye all comparison mocking,
A shape for an angel of light, but alas,
There was always a hole in her stocking.
An eye all comparison mocking,
A shape for an angel of light, but alas,
There was always a hole in her stocking.
118
The next was a damsel all trouble and tears,
The sibyl of sorrow was she,
For ever disturbing the present with fears
Of the woes that might possibly be.
The sibyl of sorrow was she,
For ever disturbing the present with fears
Of the woes that might possibly be.
The flower that would fondly have lived in her smile,
She water'd to death with her eyes;
The bird that would near her have caroll'd awhile,
She frighten'd away with her sighs.
She water'd to death with her eyes;
The bird that would near her have caroll'd awhile,
She frighten'd away with her sighs.
Then came Angelina, an angel in name,
A mortal in temper was she;
Yet her nature was noble, and I was to blame,
But in sooth we could never agree.
A mortal in temper was she;
Yet her nature was noble, and I was to blame,
But in sooth we could never agree.
The first was the dream of my childhood: the rest
Were visions as fleeting for me;
My fancy was vagrant, the heart in my breast,
Sweet Rosa, was waiting for thee.
Were visions as fleeting for me;
My fancy was vagrant, the heart in my breast,
Sweet Rosa, was waiting for thee.
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