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

TilE CHARMS OF MELOTiY.
The faint Denial. "
eOW miftaJken is the lover,
Who on words builds Lopes cf bliu-,
And fondly thinks we love difcover*
If perchance we anfwer yes.
Prompted often by dilcretion,
Js the feeming kind expreffion,
'\\ hen the tongue the heart belyir.t,
'Daies not venture on denyinr,
'But in fpite of difcontenr.
Gi\e5 the I'emblage of confent.
Ah ! how vain is art's profeffion,
1 Tho' the fault'ring tongue comp!/,
What avails t^e cold corjfeffion,
If th' averted eyes deny ?
Happier far th' experienc'd fwair:,
Knows he triumphs mult attain.
When in vain fucoelsful trial,
Lan^ua.^e gi'^es the faint denial ■,
While the eyes betray the fictio;!,
Jn delightful contradiclon,
And the ch«!el:s with bluflics glow,
iiAnd the tor ?'^'e Hill faulteis nc
tLzu m'-Jt .iKiii , ■-
I
iOr
SltRpliciiy.
F tho;j whom love and fancy lead
To wander near this voodland Kill,
n ever mufic footh'd thy quill,
pity wak'd thy gentle reed.
Repole bener.th my humble tree,
If thou court limpliciiy.
Stranger, if thy lot has laid,
in toilfome fcenes of bufy lif<?,
Full forcly m.ayjl thou rue the llrife
f w eaiy pafllons ill repaid ;
1:1 a garden live with me.
If thou lov'it fimpliclty.
Flow'is have fprung -for many a year
O'er the village maiden's grave.
That, one memorir.l fpring to fave
i-OBefore it from a lifter's bier.
And homeward walking wept o'er me
The true tears of fimpliclty.
And foon, her cottaee wipdow near
With cari my llender ftem fhs plac'd,
And fondly thus her grief embrac'd ;
And cherilli'd fad remembrance dear.
For love fincere and friendfhip free,
Are children of fimpliclty.
At fettiug Day.
AT letting day and riling morn.
With foul that ftill fliall love thee,
I'll afk of heav'n thy fafe return.
With all that can improve thee :
I'll vifit oft the birken bufli,
Where firft you kindly told me
"Sweet tales of love, and hid my bluflT,
Whilil.round thou didft enfold me.
To all our haunts thou didft repair,
By green-wood, fhaw, or fountain ;
■Or where the fummer's day I'd fhare
With you upon yon mountain :
There 'vill I tell tha trees and tlow'rs,
With thoughts unfeign'd and tender;
By Aows you're mine, my love is youi;,
'My heart, tvhich cannot ward&r.
Mad Mar)^
TTARD beats the rain, and bleak blowrths wind,
-«■ -»• Cold is my heart, oppreft by defpair ;
Yet for each blaft I'v a figh you fliall find,
And ev'ry drop I'll lepay with a tear.
Henry has banifli'd content from aij breaft,
Pitylefs leaves me to wander alone : ■
Ah ! cruel fliepherd, how can"'ft thou molefl
1 he peace of a maiden wbofeheart was thy or^im
Once on a time when l6i e was unknown.
Where was the damfel fo happy as I ?
Eut Henry deceiv'd, and contentment is flown,
Sighs fill my bofom and anguifli my eye.
I had twifted a garland and fent to my love,
Fair were the flowers and dropping with dew;-;
Mark well the iffue,' ye maids of the grove,
Th' flow'rs ftill werafreih when the fwainprov'd
untrue.
WreathM round my brow appears the fad willow.
One fprig of cyprefs I wear at my breaft;
Some friendly turf-I will leek for my pillow.
There lay m-j forrow s for ever to reft.
Allen Brooke, of Wyndermereo
CAY, have you in the villsge feen
^ A lovely youth of penfive mien,
Iffuch a one hath pafl"ed by.
With melancholy in his eye;
\V here is he gone, ah ! tell me where,
Tis Allen Brooke, of Wyndermere.
Laft night he fighing took his leave.
Which caus'd my tender heart' to grieve;
And many maids I know there be
\A ho try to wean my love from me :
But heaven knows my heart's fincere,
To Allen Brooke, of Wyndermere.
My throbbing heart is full of woe.
To think that he fliould leave me fo;
But if my love fliould anger'd be.
And try to hide himfelf from me—
Then death fliall bear me on a bier.
To Ali'.n Brooke, of Wyndermere.
Rural Happinefs.
TyHEN fummer gay begins to fliine,
T»V V ^^^ ^"^"''^ and flow'rs together twine,
We, happy ftiepherds, tend our flocks,
On yalHes low, or fteepy rocks ;
In diftant folds our lalTes flray,
With looks tl^at fay, come, hafte away.
When winter with her chilling hand,
Spreads her black train around our land,
W e, happy fliepherds, foes to ftrife.
In humble oottage Ipend our life :
When the blaft blows and night prevails,
We talk of love and ghoflly tales.
W^
We be de merry Savoyard.
SUNG IH THE PICTDRE Of FARIS.
/"E be de merry Savoyard,
Born on the alpy mountain head,
Eut as v/e found the living hard.
We come to de France to get de bread ;
De long, de dance be our reward.
We be de merry Savoyard.
We be de merry Savoy child.
By the want and de hunger led ;
'Born in the alpy mountain wild.
Come to de France to get de bread ;
'De fong, the dance be our reward.
We be de raerry Savoyard.