Lyric Poems Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres |
 |
|
|
The happy NIGHTINGALE.
|
 | Lyric Poems |  |
The happy NIGHTINGALE.
Melodious Creature, happy in thy Choice!
That sitting on a Bough,
Dost sing, Dear Mate, my Dear, Come to me now;
And she obeys thy Voice.
Ah, could my Songs such Bliss procure!
For mine could Cynthia ne'er allure:
That sitting on a Bough,
Dost sing, Dear Mate, my Dear, Come to me now;
And she obeys thy Voice.
Ah, could my Songs such Bliss procure!
For mine could Cynthia ne'er allure:
137
Nor have I Wings like thee to fly,
But must neglected lye;
I cannot her to Pity move,
She scorns my Songs, and me:
While thou rejoycest all the Grove,
(As well thou may'st) with Melody,
For thou art happy in thy Love.
But must neglected lye;
I cannot her to Pity move,
She scorns my Songs, and me:
While thou rejoycest all the Grove,
(As well thou may'st) with Melody,
For thou art happy in thy Love.
No Creature e'er could boast a perfect State,
Unless to thee it may belong,
Since Nature lib'rally supplies,
All thy Infirmities,
To thy weak Organs gave a pow'rful Song;
Thô small in Size, thou art in Fortune great,
Compar'd to mine, thy Happiness is most compleat.
Unless to thee it may belong,
Since Nature lib'rally supplies,
All thy Infirmities,
To thy weak Organs gave a pow'rful Song;
Thô small in Size, thou art in Fortune great,
Compar'd to mine, thy Happiness is most compleat.
| Lyric Poems | |