 | The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq |  |
74
DISAPPOINTED LOVE.
Recitative.
High rais'd in æther, from her silver throne,
The moon in melancholy mildness shone;
Nor voice, nor sound disturb'd the mid-night hour,
Save the sad south-wind murm'ring in the bow'r;
When sable clad, with slow and pensive mien,
Narcissa lonely pass'd the dusky green:
All wan with wasting grief, forsook her bed,
And sought the silent mansions of the dead;
Her bosom heav'd with many a deep drawn sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye:
Then from her lips thus broke the voice of woe—
Then planets listen'd, and the moon mov'd slow.
The moon in melancholy mildness shone;
Nor voice, nor sound disturb'd the mid-night hour,
Save the sad south-wind murm'ring in the bow'r;
When sable clad, with slow and pensive mien,
Narcissa lonely pass'd the dusky green:
All wan with wasting grief, forsook her bed,
And sought the silent mansions of the dead;
Her bosom heav'd with many a deep drawn sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye:
Then from her lips thus broke the voice of woe—
Then planets listen'd, and the moon mov'd slow.
Air.
Farewell to all that promis'd joy;
No flatt'ring hopes my thoughts employ;
A wounded heart bleeds in my breast,
And death alone can give me rest.
No flatt'ring hopes my thoughts employ;
A wounded heart bleeds in my breast,
And death alone can give me rest.
75
And thou, lamented youth, farewell!
With thee the smiling prospect fell;
Sad o'er thy grave, broods black despair,
For all my hopes lie buried there.
With thee the smiling prospect fell;
Sad o'er thy grave, broods black despair,
For all my hopes lie buried there.
But now thy form mov'd in my sight,
I glow'd with love and dear delight;
Thy bosom burn'd with equal fire,
With equal pangs of soft desire.
I glow'd with love and dear delight;
Thy bosom burn'd with equal fire,
With equal pangs of soft desire.
But now I deck'd me for thy bride;
Elate in youth and beauty's pride,
My throbbing heart beat quick alarms,
Whilst bliss approach'd in Damon's arms.
Elate in youth and beauty's pride,
My throbbing heart beat quick alarms,
Whilst bliss approach'd in Damon's arms.
A voice soon strikes my startled ear,
Whose dismal accents yet I hear;
Forbear, fond maid, forbear, it cries,
For Damon, thy lov'd Damon, dies.
Whose dismal accents yet I hear;
Forbear, fond maid, forbear, it cries,
For Damon, thy lov'd Damon, dies.
All strength forsakes my tott'ring frame;
My tongue scarce utters Damon's name;
Prostrate I fall; my eye-balls roll,
And anguish wrings my tortur'd soul.
My tongue scarce utters Damon's name;
Prostrate I fall; my eye-balls roll,
And anguish wrings my tortur'd soul.
Yet, yet I hear the deep ton'd bell,
With minute strokes tell out his knell;
My swelling heart grows big with grief,
And not one tear vouchsafes relief.
With minute strokes tell out his knell;
My swelling heart grows big with grief,
And not one tear vouchsafes relief.
Oh! if beneath yon pale moon's sphere,
Thy lambent spirit floats in air,
Witness my sigh's, hear me complain,
And pity my unequal'd pain.
Thy lambent spirit floats in air,
76
And pity my unequal'd pain.
Whilst bitter grief and pining woe,
And welcome death at last will show,
How hard their fate who ever prove
The pangs of disappointed love.
And welcome death at last will show,
How hard their fate who ever prove
The pangs of disappointed love.
| The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq | |