 | Poems on several occasions |  |
180
LYSANDER;
OR THE PARTING. A CANTATA.
RECIT.
Lysander brave and young,With-held by her whom more than Life he priz'd,
And who for him all other Youths despis'd;
E'er to the Wars he did repair,
Thus addrest the weeping Fair,
With broken Sighs, and falt'ring Tongue.
181
AIR.
Who can to War's Alarms.
Fly from those folded Arms?
Yet that must I:
Fly from those folded Arms?
Yet that must I:
O Cupid! God of Love,
Would'st thou propitious prove,
Here let me die.
Would'st thou propitious prove,
Here let me die.
RECIT.
While thus entranc'd he stood,The Silver Trumpet from afar,
Chides his Delay, and calls to War:
New Vigour fires his Blood,
His Soul is all alarm'd, he starts, he flies,
And to the Trumpet's Call he thus replies.
182
AIR.
Sound, sound to Arms, away, away,
Bellona calls, I must obey.
Bellona calls, I must obey.
Yet, 'tis hard Fate, to leave thee so:
But Honour calls, and I must go.
But Honour calls, and I must go.
| Poems on several occasions | |