11 Then mourn not the decrees of Fate,
That gave his life so short a date;
And I will join my tenderest sighs,
To think that youth so swiftly flies!
1 So dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend,
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.
20 Lycon! born when every Muse,
When every Grace, benignant smiled,
With all a parent's breast could choose
To bless her loved, her only child ;
"Tis thine, so richly graced, to prove
More noble cares than cares of love.
3 Together we from early youth
Have trod the flowery tracks of time,
Together mused in search of truth,
O'er learned sage, or bard sublime;
And well thy cultured breast I know,
What wondrous treasure it can show!
4 Come, then, resume thy charming lyre,
And sing some patriot's worth sublime, Whilst I in fields of soft desire
Consume my fair and fruitless prime;
Whose reed aspires but to display
The flame that burns me night and day.
5 O come! the Dryads of the woods
Shall daily soothe thy studious mind,
The blue-eyed nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And Fame sits listening for thy lays
To swell her trump with Lucio's praise.
6 Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the sportsman from her nest,
And fluttering on with anxious cries,
Too plainly shows her tortured breast;
O let him, conscious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to spare.
TO BE PERFORMED BY DR BRETTLE, AND A CHORUS OF
HALES-OWEN CITIZENS. THE INSTRUMENTAL PART A
Air by the Doctor.
Awake! I say, awake, good people!
And be for once alive and gay;
Come, let's be merry; stir the tipple;
Whilst I do play? How can you sleep? &c.
Chorus of Citizens.
Pardon, O pardon, great Musician!
On drowsy souls some pity take,
For wondrous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,
Thy strains to hear;
To drink,
Hear but this strain-'twas made by Handel,
A wight of skill and judgment deep!
Zoonters, they're gone-Sal, bring a candle——
No, here is one, and he's asleep.
1 'Tis by comparison we know
On every object to bestow
Its proper share of praise :
Did each alike perfection bear,
What beauty, though divinely fair,
Could admiration raise?
2 Amidst the lucid bands of night,
See! Hesperus, serenely bright,
Adorns the distant skies:
But languishes amidst the blaze
Of sprightly Sol's meridian rays,—
Or Silvia's brighter eyes.
3 Whene'er the nightingale complains,
I like the melancholy strains,
And praise the tuneful bird:
But vainly might she strain her throat,
Vainly exalt each swelling note,
Should Silvia's voice be heard.
4 When, on the violet's purple bed,
Supine I rest my weary head,
The fragrant pillow charms :
Yet soon such languid bliss I'd fly,
Would Silvia but the loss supply,
And take me to her arms.
5 The alabaster's wondrous white,
The marble's polish strikes my sight,
When Silvia is not seen:
But ah! how faint that white is grown,
How rough appears the polish'd stone,
Compared with Silvia's mien!
6 The rose, that o'er the Cyprian plains, With flowers enamell'd, blooming reigns, With undisputed power,
Placed near her cheek's celestial red
(Its purple lost, its lustre fled),
Delights the sense no more.
1 Shall Love alone for ever claim
An universal right to fame,
An undisputed sway?
Or has not Music equal charms,
To fill the breast with strange alarms,
And make the world obey?
2 The Thracian bard, as poets tell,
Could mitigate the powers of hell,
Even Pluto's nicer ear:
His arts, no more than Love's, we find
To deities or men confined,
Drew brutes in crowds to hear.
3 Whatever favourite passion reign'd,
The poet still his right maintain'd
O'er all that ranged the plain:
The fiercer tyrants could assuage,
Or fire the timorous into rage,
Whene'er he changed the strain.
4 In milder lays the bard began;
Soft notes through every finger ran,
And echoing charm'd the place:
See! fawning lions gaze around,
And, taught to quit their savage sound,
Assume a gentler grace.
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