University of Virginia Library


83

A BALLAD.

[_]

To the Tune of, The Irish Howl.

1

To that dear nymph, whose powerful name
Does every throbbing nerve inflame,
(As the soft sound I low repeat
My pulse unequal measures beat)
Whose eyes I never more shall see,
That once so sweetly shin'd on thee;
Go, gentle wind! and kindly bear
My tender wishes to the fair.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.

84

2

Amidst her pleasures let her know
The secret anguish of my woe,
The midnight pang, the jealous hell,
Does in this tortur'd bosom dwell:
While laughing she, and full of play,
Is with her young companions gay;
Or hearing in some fragrant bower
Her lover's sigh, and beauty's power.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.

3

Lost and forgotten may I be!
Oh may no pitying thought of me
Disturb the joy that she may find,
When love is crown'd, and fortune kind:
May that biess'd swain (whom yet I hate)
Be proud of his distinguish'd fate:

85

Each happy night be like the first;
And he be bless'd as I am curs'd.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.

4

While in these pathless woods I stray,
And lose my solitary way;
Talk to the stars, to trees complain,
And tell the senseless woods my pain:
But madness spares the sacred name,
Nor dares the hidden wound proclaim;
Which secret rankling, sure and slow,
Shall close in endless peace my woe.
Hoh, ho, ho.

5

When this fond heart shall ake no more,
And all the ills of life are o'er;
(If gods by lovers prayers are mov'd
As every god in heaven has lov'd)

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Instead of bright Elysian joys,
That unknown something in the skies,
In recompence of all my pain,
The only heaven I would obtain,
May I the guardian of her charms
Preserve that paradise from harms.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.