 | Leucothoe |  |
SCENE I.
A night-prospect of a garden; a pavilion in view, beyond which appears the back part of a palace; a terrace adorned with statues, &c. &c.PHOEBUS and LEUCOTHOE enter from the pavilion.
CLYTIE, with a black slave, listening behind.
Leucothöe.
The winds are fast asleep, there's scarce a breeze
To rock the little birds upon the trees.
What grateful odours rise from ev'ry brake!
See how the moon-beams shine on yonder lake!
How softly sweet these waters fall to ground,
That break the silence with their murm'ring sound!
You will not, sure, so quickly bid farewel;
I've yet a thousand things to ask, and tell.
Phoebus.
And I could ever stay to talk and hear;
But look how faint those glimm'ring fires appear!
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The morning-star already lights the East;
Aurora now unbars the gates of day,
And from that mountain summons me away.
Leucothöe.
Yet stay.—I know I've somewhat to impart;
If you are absent long, 'twill break my heart.
How soon will you return?
Phoebus.
With double speed
I'll lash my coursers to their western bed
At night.—Believe me to my promise just;
I'll come on wings—
Leucothöe.
Then must we part?
Phoebus.
We must,
But for a few short hours: restrain your tears;
Why thus incompass'd with unusual fears?
You droop!
Leucothöe.
Oh, Phoebus!
Phoebus.
Say'st thou? Prithee speak.
Leucothöe.
Forgive me; I'm a woman, fond, and weak,
In terror often when no danger's nigh:
Perhaps I weep, and fear, I know not why.
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Perhaps I weep, and fear, I know not why.
Why with sighs my heart is swelling,
Why with tears my eyes o'erflow,
Ask me not, 'tis past the telling,
Mute, involuntary woe.
Prizing joys, we fear to lose 'em;
Can you then condemn my pain?
Something whispers to my bosom,
We shall never meet again.
Why with tears my eyes o'erflow,
Ask me not, 'tis past the telling,
Mute, involuntary woe.
Prizing joys, we fear to lose 'em;
Can you then condemn my pain?
Something whispers to my bosom,
We shall never meet again.
Phoebus.
Oh! my dear love, quick, quickly drive away
Those boding thoughts which on your quiet prey;
The breed of Fancy, gender'd in the brain,
Nurs'd by the grosser spirits, light, and vain;
The vagrant visions of the sleeping mind,
Which vanish wak'd, nor leave a mark behind.
Those boding thoughts which on your quiet prey;
The breed of Fancy, gender'd in the brain,
Nurs'd by the grosser spirits, light, and vain;
The vagrant visions of the sleeping mind,
Which vanish wak'd, nor leave a mark behind.
When two kind doves their nest desert,
A different passage to pursue,
With gentle murmurs thus they part.
A different passage to pursue,
With gentle murmurs thus they part.
Leucothöe.
My life, farewel!
Phoebus.
My love, adieu!
| Leucothoe | |