Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Charms of melody, or, Siren medley

24
OLD BALLADS.
Julia.
TO tlie graves, where fleep the dead,
Haplefs Julia took her way j
Sighs to heave and tears to Ihed,
O'er I he fpot where Damon lay.
Many a blooming flow'r fhe bore,
O'er the green grafs turf to throw j
And while faft her tears did pour,
Thus fhe fang to footh her woe :
" Soft and fafe the' lowly grave,
" Faft o'er thee mjc^ tears fhall flow j
" Only hope the haplefs have,
" Only refuge left for woe.
" Conftant love and grief fincere
" Shall thy hallow'd turf pervade ;
" And many a heartfelt figh and tear,
" Haplefs youth, fhall footh thy fliade,
" Lighted by the moon's pale fhine,
" See me, to thy mem'ry true,
" Lowly bending at hy fhrine,
" Many a votive flow'r to firew.
" But how little do thefe flow'rs
" Prove my love and conflancy f
" Ye; a few fad fleering hours,
" And, dear youth, I'll follow thee.
" Rofe replete with fcent and hue,
" Sweetefl flow'r that nature blows,
'• Damon flourifh'd once like you ;
" Now o'er him the green grafs grows.
" Rofe, go deck his hallow'd grave,
" Lily, o'er the green turf twine;
" Honour meet chat turf fhould have,
" Beauty's bed and virtue's fhrine.
" Primrofe pale, and violet blue,
" Jefs'min fw^et, and eglantina,
" Nightly here thy fweets I flrew,
" Proud to deck my true-love's fhrine.
" Like you, my Damon blooip'd a day,
" He did die, and fo muft you —
" But fuch charms can you difplay,
" Half fo virtuous, half fo true ?
" No, fweet flow'rets, no fuch charms^
" No fuch virtues can you boaft;
" Yet he's torn from my fond arms,
" Yet my faithful love is croft.
" But a radient morn fhall rife,
" (Loit'ring moments, fafter flow)
•• When with him I'll tread the Ikies,
" Smile at death, and laugh at woe,*'
Thus (he fung, and ftrew'd the flow'r.
Beat her breaft, and wept, and figh'd ;
And, when toll'd the midnight hour,
On the green turf grave fhe dy'd.
Many a nightingale forlorn
Sung her knell, while breezes figh'd ;
Haughty grandeur heard with fcorn
How fo poor a maiden dy'd.
The Dovvy Den.
OSee you not yon bonny fteed.
That eats beneath the tree?
O tarry not, my little boy,
But bring hirn faft to me.
The boy ran nimbly to the place,
Where fed the milk-white fteed.
And brought him to the lady fair,
Who mounted him with fpeed.
The whip fhe ply'd— the courfer flew.
The duft in clouds did rife.
And foon fhe fpy'd the *dowy den
Where her true lover lies.
* Dowy fignifies difma!.
But now the panting fteed fhe ftop'd.
And on the ground fhe fprung,
Then hied her to the fatal place,
With trees and bufhes hung.
A dreary place, I ween, it was,
And mournful to behold ;
Above — the winds did doleful blow ;
Below— dark waters roU'd.
All cold and pale the youth was laid
Fafl by the rueful flood;
A breathlefs corfe, outflretch'd he lay,
And all befmear'd with blood.
" O fight of woe !" fhe cry'd, and ran
To where her lover lay ;
Then, like an afpin, quiv'ring flood.
And gaz'd on the cold clay.
That breaft where oft thou, love-fick maid I
Haft laid thy languid head,
Doth now prefent the ghaflly wound
Made by the deathfifl blade.
Thofe yellow locks, that oft with joy
Thy lily hand hath bound,
Tofs'd by the wind, now loofely flow
Neglet<led on the ground.
How cold and wan at noon that cheek,
Where glow'd at morn the rofe !
Thofe beauteous eyes the fleep of death
Doth now for ever clofe.
In filent angaifli fix'd fhe ftood.
And o'er the body hung.
Then ftooping, grafp'd :ind kifs'd the hand,
And lighing, thas begun:
Nor wealth nor grandeur pow'r could have
My fluthful heart to fhake ;
For thee it beat, O much lov'd boy .'
For thee it now doth break.
Why did thy wrathful rival think
His fword could us disjoin .?
Did he not know that love had made
My life but one with thine }
Then haughty baron, know it now,
Nor hope I'll be thy bride ;
With this dear youth I joy to die.
Contemn thy pomp and pride.
And thou, my father, come and fee
How low thy daughter lies ;
From crofTing vijtuoiis love, behold
What dire misfortunes rife,
O haplefs youth — But ah 1 no more
Her fault'ring tongue could fay ;
Then foftly funk upon his breaft,
And breath'd her foul away.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
UNDER the greenwood tree.
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the fweet birds throat.
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here fhall he fee
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition fhun.
And loves to live i' the. fun.
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleasd with what he gets.
Come hither, come hither, com? hither,
Here fliall he fee
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.
Shaiefpeare,