SONGS.

SONG I.

COME here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be,
That boasts to love as well as me ;

And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,
Come hither and thy flame approve;

I'll teach thee what it is to love,

And by what marks true passion may be found.

It is to be all bath'd in tears;

To live upon a smile for years;
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet:

To kneel, to languish and implore;
And still tho' she disdain, adore :

It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.

It is to gaze upon her eyes

With eager joy and fond surprise;

Yet temper'd with such chaste and awful fear As wretches feel who wait their doom;

Nor must one ruder thought presume

Tho' but in whispers breath'd, to meet her ear.

It is to hope, tho' hope were lost;

Tho' heaven and earth thy passion crost; Tho' she were bright as sainted queens above. And thou the least and meanest swain

That folds his flock upon the plain,

Yet if thou dar'st not hope, thou dost not love.

It is to quench thy joy in tears;

To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears: If pangs of jealousy thou hast not prov'd, Tho' she were fonder and more true

Than any nymph old poets drew,

Oh never dream again that thou hast lov'd.

If when the darling maid is gone,
Thou dost not seek to be alone,

Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe;

5 *

And muse, and fold thy languid arms,

Feeding thy fancy on her charms,

Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so.

If any hopes thy bosom share

But those which love has planted there, Or any cares but his thy breast enthrall, Thou never yet his power hast known; Love sits on a despotic throne,

And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all.

Now if thou art so lost a thing,
Here all thy tender sorrows bring,

And prove whose patience longest can endure.
We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost

In dreams of fondest passion most;

For if thou thus hast lov'd, oh never hope a cure!

SONG II.

Ir ever thou didst joy to bind
Two hearts in equal passion join'd,
O son of VENUS! hear me now,
And bid FLORELLA bless my vow.

If any bliss reserv'd for me

Thou in the leaves of fate should'st see; If any white propitious hour,

Pregant with hoarded joys in store;

Now, now the mighty treasure give,
In her for whom alone I live;

In sterling love pay all the sum,
And I'll absolve the fates to come.

In all the pride of full-blown charms
Yield her, relenting, to my arms:
Her bosom touch with soft desires,
And let her feel what she inspires.

But, CUPID, if thine aid be vain
The dear reluctant maid to gain;
If still with cold averted eyes

She dash my hopes, and scorn my sighs;

O! grant ('tis all I ask of thee)

That I no more may change than she;
But still with duteous zeal love on,

When every gleam of hope is gone.

Leave me then along to languish ;
Think not time can heal my anguish;

Pity the woes which I endure;

But never, never grant a cure.

SONG III.

SYLVIA. LEAVE me, simple shepherd, leave me ;
Drag no more a hopeless chain :

I cannot like, nor would deceive thee ;
Love the maid that loves again.

CORIN. Tho' more gentle nymphs surround me,
Kindly pitying what I feel,

Only you have power to wound me;
SYLVIA, only you can heal.

SYLVIA. CORIN, cease this idle teasing;

Love that's forc'd is harsh and sour:

If the lover be displeasing,

To persist disgusts the more.

CORIN. 'Tis in vain, in vain to fly me,
SYLVIA, I will still pursue;