 | Songs and poems(1866) |  |
COME, PANDORA, COME AWAY.
Come, Pandora, come away,
Who can brook such dull delay?
Come and glad my longing eye;
Could I now Pandora spy!
Envious hill, O why wilt thou
Intercept a lover's view!
Haste, Pandora, haste away,
Every minute seems a day.
Who can brook such dull delay?
Come and glad my longing eye;
Could I now Pandora spy!
11
Intercept a lover's view!
Haste, Pandora, haste away,
Every minute seems a day.
Once lov'd plains no longer please,
There's no pleasure, but where she is,
I'd with her to town resort,
I'd with her endure a court;
Wilds are gardens with my dear,
All's a wild if she's not there.
Haste, Pandora, haste away
Every minute seems a day.
There's no pleasure, but where she is,
I'd with her to town resort,
I'd with her endure a court;
Wilds are gardens with my dear,
All's a wild if she's not there.
Haste, Pandora, haste away
Every minute seems a day.
See she comes—ye swains prepare
To entertain the lovely fair;
Let blythe jokes and rustic rhyme,
Songs and dances cheat the time,
All your gambols, all be play'd
To divert the charming maid;
May her hours unheeded flow,
And the clock ne'er seem too slow.
To entertain the lovely fair;
Let blythe jokes and rustic rhyme,
Songs and dances cheat the time,
All your gambols, all be play'd
To divert the charming maid;
May her hours unheeded flow,
And the clock ne'er seem too slow.
See she comes—ye maidens haste,
Sweep the hearth, nay do it fast;
Mind that nought offend the sight,
Be the table wondrous bright;
Rub the cupboard, rub it clean
Till your shadow's to be seen;
Let clean pinners grace each head,
Each her lily apron spread.
Sweep the hearth, nay do it fast;
Mind that nought offend the sight,
Be the table wondrous bright;
Rub the cupboard, rub it clean
Till your shadow's to be seen;
Let clean pinners grace each head,
Each her lily apron spread.
12
Now she's near—I burn, I glow,
Short my breath, my voice grows low!
Thus the lark with cheerful lay
Hails th'approaching god of day,
But when nearer he displays
Brighter beams and warmer rays;
Then her little bosom heaves,
And its gentle warbling leaves.
Short my breath, my voice grows low!
Thus the lark with cheerful lay
Hails th'approaching god of day,
But when nearer he displays
Brighter beams and warmer rays;
Then her little bosom heaves,
And its gentle warbling leaves.
| Songs and poems(1866) | |