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

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THE CHARMS OF Mi-LOJDY.
'Twas near a Purling River Side.
''~T~'V/AS near a purling river ^de,-'
L V. here bending •vvillows kifs the tid?j
VouKg Chloe fat, with head reclin'd,
On flow'r/ bank, opptefs'd in mind.
Her bofom heav'd with throbting fighs,
The tears ran- trickling from hereye*;
Her face rellt'ited with delpair.
And lev'ry groan re-echo'd care.
Till grief at laft gave fuch a ftroke,
Her eye-lids clos'd, her heart-ftrings broke.
Yel, ere Ihe dy'd, in folenjn tone
She fpoke thefe words -ftijtliout a groan ;
" Farewell, ye meads — farewell, ye bow'rs;
" Trarjfiucid flreains, and fragrant tlow'rs ;
"Colin, and earthly joys, adieu ;
" No longer! can ftay -with you.
This Day is our own.
► RAY don't ileep or think.
But give us lome drink,
F;Or 'faiih I'm moft plaguily dry ;
, Wine cheers up the foul,
Then fill up the bowl,
For ere long, you all know we mufl die.
Yeilerday's gone.
This day is our own,
To-morrow we never may fee.;
Thought caufes us fmart,
And eats up ihe heart ;
Then let us be jovial and frtje.
The world is a cheat,
With a face counterfeit,
Afii freedom -and mirth difcomniends ;
But here we will quaff.
Speak our. thoughts, fing, and laugh;
For all here are mafons and friends.
Friendfhip and Wine._
LET the grave, and the gay,
Enjoy life how they ">'4y,
\M[y pleafures their pleafures furpafs;
Go the world well or ill,
'Tis the fanne with me ftill,
If J have but my friend and my glaif.
The lover may figh,
The couriier.may lie.
And Crcefirs his treafure amafs;
All the joys are but vain,
That are blended with pain ;
So I'll ftand by my friend and my^Iafi.
New life wine infpires,
And creates new defires,
And oft wins the lover his lafs,
"Or his courage prepares
To difdainthe nymph's airs ;
56"T'H ftand by my friend and my glafs.
The earth fucks tlie rain.
The fun diaws the main,
Witl^ the earth we are all in a clafs ;
Then enlivert the clay,
,liet us live v;hile we may.
And I'll Hand by my friend and my glafs.
■■' ' 'Tis friendfhip and wine
Only, life can refine :
We care not vvihate'cr comes to pafs
Wiih-«ourtiers, -or great men.
There's none of us llatelmen ;
£;ojne, here's to eur friend and our g'afs.
The iN'ight ^vas ftill.
THE' night was ftill, the air ferene,
Fann'd by a louthern breeze ;
The glimm'ring moon might juft be feen,
Reflefting thro' the trees.
The bubbling water's conftant courfe,
From tJfF th' adjacent hill,
Was mournful Echo's laft refource,
All nature was fo ftill. .
The conftant fhepherd fought this Ihade,
By forrow fore opprefs'd ;
Clofc by a fountain's marein laid, ' '
His pain he thus exprefs'd :—
" Ah, wretched youth ! why didft thou love,
" Or hope to meet fuccefs ;
" Or think the fair v/ould conftant prove',
" Thy blooming hopes to blefs ?
'" Find me the rofe on barren fands;
" The lily 'midft the rocks;
" The grape in wild deferted, lands;
■" A wolf to guard the flocki,
" Thofe you, alas! will fooner gain,
" And will more eafy find,
*' Than meet with aught but cold difdain
" In faithlefs womankind.
" Riches alone now win the fair,
" Merit they quite defpife ;
" The conftant lover, thro' defpair,
"Becaufe not wealthy, dies."
The Rofe-Bud.
SWEET bud ! to Laura's bofom go,
And live beneath her eye ;
There, in the fun of beauty blow.
Or tafte of heav'n and die.
Sweet earneft of the blooming year!"
Whole dawning beauties fpeak
The budding blufh of fummer near,
1 he fummer on her cheek !
Beft emblem of the nymph I love,
Refembling beauty's morn,
To Laura's bofom hafte, and prove
One rofe without a thorn.
The Linnet.
AS paffing by a fhady grov-e,
I heard a linnet fing,
Whofe fwectly plaintive voice of love
Proclaims the cheerful fpring.
His pretty accents feem'd to flow
As if he knew no pain ;
His downy throat he tun'd fo fv.eet,
It echo'd o'er the plain.
Ah 1 happy warbler, Ireply'dj
Contented thus to be ;
'Tis only harmony and love
Can be compar'd to thee.
Thus perch'd upon the fpray, you ftand
The monarch of the fhade ;
And even fip ambrofial fweels,
That flow from ev'ry glade.
Did man poffefs b«t half thy blifs,
Kow joyful might he be !
But man was never form'd for this,
' 1 is only joy for thee.
Then farewell, pretty bird, I faid,
~ Purfue thy plaintive tale,
j^nd let thy ^tuneful accents fpread.
All o'er the frisgrant ■» aljs.