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

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THE
CHARMS OF MELODY,
OR
SIREN MEDLEY.
T^e Plan-of the Publ,n,er.s to embody mflnc Grand T6l,o Volume, all the Song., ancient and modern, in the En»li(h Laneuaee
worth prefervmg— forming an Univerfa! Magazine of Love, Sentimemal, War, Hunting, Bacchanalian. Humourous Sea and pS!l
Songs; as well as Old Englifh, Irifh, and Scotch Ballade. Legendaries, &c. tcz. To which will be added"a com^jete Vndex.
At Evening when my Work is done.
AT evening, when my work i< done.
And the breeze at fetting fun
Scarcely breathes upon the tide.
Then alone I love to glide,
Unheard, unfeen, my filent oar.
Steals along the fhaded fhore :
All is daTk, and all is mute,
Save the moon, and lover's lute -.
Tang, ting, tang, it feems to fay,'
Lovers dread return of day.
Toward the abbey-wall I fteer.
There the coral hymn I hear;
While the organ's lengtliened note,
Seems in diftant woods to float :
Returning then, my iilent oar
Steals along the fiiaded ftiore : All is dark, i^c.
New Roundelay.
DRIFTED fnow no more is feen,
liluft'ring Winter paffes by ;
Merry Spring comes, clad in green,
While wood-larks pour their melody ;
I hear him — hark !
The merry lark,
Calls us to the new-mown hay.
Piping to our roundelay.
When the golden fun appears
On the mountains furly brow,
^Hien his jolly beams he rears.
Darting joy~behold them now :
Then, then — Oh ! hark,
The merry lark,
Calls us to the new-mown hay.
Piping to our roundelay.
■When the village boy to field.
Tramps it with the buxom lafs,
'■Jain file would not feem to yield.
Yet gets tumbled on the grafs :
Then, then— Oh 1 hark.
The merry lark.
While they tumble in the- hay.
Pipes, alone, his roundelay.
W^hat are honors, what's a court?
Calni content is worth them all ;
'Our honor lies in cudgel fport,
Our brighteft court a greenfword ball :
But then — Oh ! hark,
The merry lark.
Call us to the new-mown hay.
Piping to our roundelay.
The parting Kifs.
/^NE kirtd kifs before we part,
^-^ Drop a tear and then adieu;
Tho' we fever, my fond heart
'Till we meet fhall pant for you«
Yet, yet weep not fo, my love,
Let me kifs that falling tear;
Tho' my body-muft remove,
• All my foul will ftill be here.
All my foul and all my heart,
Ev'ry wifh Ihall pant for you ;
One kind kifs then e'er we part,
Drop a tear and bid adieu.
I can't tell what to think on't.
BRA Jockey calls me his delight,
And vows he loo's me dearly.
He fays my ee'n like ftars are bright.
And woos me late and early :
But when he beckons to the glen.
As I Hand on the brink on't.
My heart it beats, and truly then,
I can't tell what to think on't.
Then he is na afilly'loon.
But bonny, gay and viritty.
Yet he may change as does the mooa,
And that would be a pity :
For I muft own I loo him well.
If falfe I fure muft fink on't :
The truth, ye lafies, I muft tell,
I don't know what to think on't.
I met wi' Willy t'other day.
Who look'd fo fnug and neatly,
And foon began his pipe to play.l
Then' fang to me moft fweetly :
Young Jockey chanced to pafs by.
And gloomy feem'd to blink on't s
I ken he had a jealous eye,
■He knew not what to think on't.
Yet I'll na more torment the lad,
If honour is his meaning,
I'll foon confent to make him glad,
And. to his wifli be leaning :
To kirk if he fiiould afk to go,
I'furely kind will blink on't r
For then I certainly fliall know.
Right truly what to think on't.
PUBLISHED at N°- lO, BEDFORD-ROW, Dublin,
Where the preceding Numbers can be had.
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