The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour collated with the ms. volume of his poems, and containing several pieces hitherto unpublished; with illustrative notes, and an account of the life of the author. By James Paterson |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| IV. |
SONG.
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
 | The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour |  |
103
SONG.
[Go, plaintive sounds! and to the fair]
Go, plaintive sounds! and to the fair
My secret wounds impart,
Tell all I hope, tell all I fear,
Each motion in my heart.
My secret wounds impart,
Tell all I hope, tell all I fear,
Each motion in my heart.
But she, methinks, is list'ning now,
To some enchanting strain,
The smile that triumphs o'er her brow,
Seems not to heed my pain.
To some enchanting strain,
The smile that triumphs o'er her brow,
Seems not to heed my pain.
Yes, plaintive sounds, yet, yet delay,
Howe'er my love repine,
Let that gay minute pass away,
The next, perhaps, is thine.
Howe'er my love repine,
Let that gay minute pass away,
The next, perhaps, is thine.
Yes, plaintive sounds, no longer crost,
Your griefs shall soon be o'er,
Her cheek undimpled now, has lost
The smile it lately wore.
Your griefs shall soon be o'er,
Her cheek undimpled now, has lost
The smile it lately wore.
Yes, plaintive sounds, she now is yours,
'Tis now your time to move;
Essay to soften all her pow'rs,
And be that softness, love.
'Tis now your time to move;
Essay to soften all her pow'rs,
And be that softness, love.
Cease, plaintive sounds, your task is done,
That anxious tender air
Proves o'er her heart the conquest won,
I see you melting there.
That anxious tender air
Proves o'er her heart the conquest won,
I see you melting there.
Return, ye smiles, return again,
Return each sprightly grace,
I yield up to your charming reign,
All that enchanting face.
Return each sprightly grace,
I yield up to your charming reign,
All that enchanting face.
I take no outward shew amiss,
Rove where they will, her eyes,
Still let her smiles each shepherd bless,
So she but hear my sighs.
Rove where they will, her eyes,
Still let her smiles each shepherd bless,
So she but hear my sighs.
| The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour | |