 | Miscellaneous works, prose and poetical |  |
47
ELIZA.
A PASTORAL SONG.
While his sheep play cheerful around,
And crop the fresh grass off the plain,
The notes of soft music resound,
The notes of young Marcus the swain:—
To Eliza he tunes his sweet voice,
In grace and in beauty array'd,
The vallies responsive rejoice,
While silence and stillness pervade.
And crop the fresh grass off the plain,
The notes of soft music resound,
The notes of young Marcus the swain:—
To Eliza he tunes his sweet voice,
In grace and in beauty array'd,
The vallies responsive rejoice,
While silence and stillness pervade.
On the bank of yon smooth gliding brook,
With aspect in sweetness serene,
As she gracefully lean'd on her crook,
The lovely Eliza I've seen:
While pensive the flood she surveyed,
Which stole in soft murmurs along,
Unnotic'd I lay in the shade,
While the birds tun'd their evening song.
With aspect in sweetness serene,
As she gracefully lean'd on her crook,
The lovely Eliza I've seen:
While pensive the flood she surveyed,
Which stole in soft murmurs along,
Unnotic'd I lay in the shade,
While the birds tun'd their evening song.
Eliza! ah, who can describe?
Who her beauty and charms can unfold?
Who can paint great Sol in his pride,
When he mounts his bright chariot of gold?
Her curling and beautiful hair
O'er her back hung gracefully down;
Like the snow her loose garments were fair—
There grace and simplicity's found.
Who her beauty and charms can unfold?
Who can paint great Sol in his pride,
When he mounts his bright chariot of gold?
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O'er her back hung gracefully down;
Like the snow her loose garments were fair—
There grace and simplicity's found.
Eliza I've oft seen before,
Tho' nought but our eyes have yet spoke;
Her in silence I calmly adore,
For her now the muse I revoke:
My bosom now points to the day,
When I to this maid shall be known,
When we'll pass the swift hours away,
When my passion for her I may own.
Tho' nought but our eyes have yet spoke;
Her in silence I calmly adore,
For her now the muse I revoke:
My bosom now points to the day,
When I to this maid shall be known,
When we'll pass the swift hours away,
When my passion for her I may own.
With his tinges of beautiful hue
The sun is now gilding the sky,
All nature is charming to view,
The scene draws the heart's pensive sigh.—
Come my sheep return to your fold,
While your shepherd points the known way,
Who covets no honour nor gold,
The crook, not the sceptre, to sway.
The sun is now gilding the sky,
All nature is charming to view,
The scene draws the heart's pensive sigh.—
Come my sheep return to your fold,
While your shepherd points the known way,
Who covets no honour nor gold,
The crook, not the sceptre, to sway.
Thus Marcus indulged the soft strains,
While graceful reclin'd in a shade,
I thoughtfully rambling the plains,
Directed my steps where he lay'd.
Congenial in sorrow and thought,
His musical notes struck my ear;
I pensive survey'd the fond spot,
And dropt to Eliza a tear.
While graceful reclin'd in a shade,
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Directed my steps where he lay'd.
Congenial in sorrow and thought,
His musical notes struck my ear;
I pensive survey'd the fond spot,
And dropt to Eliza a tear.
| Miscellaneous works, prose and poetical | |