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

Price,
[Numb.43]
One Penny,
THE
CHARMS OF MELODY,
OR
SIREN MEDLEY,
The Plan of the Publifher is to embody in one Grand Folio Volume, all the Songs, ancient and modern, in the Englifh Language?
worth preferving — forming a Univerfal Magazine of Love, Sentimental,War, Hunting, Bacchana&in, Humourous, Sea, and Political
Songs; as well as Old Englilli, Irilh, and Scotch Ballads, Legendaries, &c. Stc. To which will be added, a complete Index.
2Tic puhlijlisr is happy at hailing it in his power to
prefint the following lines, -written by Gray, -which
have-not appear din any edition oj that celebrated
author's xvorks.
THYRSIS, when we parted, fwore
Ere the fpring he would returiij
Ah ! what means yoa vi'let flow'r.
And the buds that dect the thorn ?
Twas the lark that upward fprung,
'Twas the nightingale that fung.
Idle notes! untimely green!
Why this unavailing hafte ?
Weftern gales and (kies ferene '
Speak not always winter paft.
Ceal'e, my doubts, my fears to move ;
5pare the honour of my love.
Whither, my Love.
WHITHE-R,mylove, ah! whitherart thou gone?
Let not thy abfence cloud this happy dawn?
"Sa/, by thy heart can falfehood e'er be known.
Ah ! no, I judge it by my own.
The heart he gave with fo much care.
Which trealur'd in my breaft I wearj
"Still for its mafter beats alone,
I'm fure the feliifh thing's his own.
When Yanko, Dear.
WHEN Yanko, dear, fight far away.
Some token kind me fend ;
One branch of olive, for dat fay,
Me wifh the battle end :
De poplar tremble while him go,
Say of dy life take care ;
Me fend no laurel, for me know
Of dat he find hira fhare.
De ivy fay my heart be true,
Me droop, fay willow tree ;
•De torn, he fay, me fick for you,
De fun flow'r tink of me :
'Till lad me go weep widde pine,
For fear poor Yanko dead ;
He come, and I de myrtle twine,
In.chaplet for hiin head.
The Jew's Defcription.
GIVE Ifaac thenymph who no beauty can boaft.
But health and good humour, to make her his
toaft.
If ftiait, I don't mind whether Sender or fat,
Or fixfeet or four, we'll ne'er quarrel for that.
We'll ne'er, Wc"
Whate'er her complexion I vow I don't care,
Jf brown it is lafting, more pleafing if fair ;
And tho' in her cheeks I no dimples fliou'd fee,
Let her fmile, and each dell is a dimple to me.
let her, £s'c»
Let her locks be the reddeft that ever were feen,
And her ey^s may be — faith any colour but green ;
For in eyes,- tho' fo various the luftre and hue,
I fwear I'veiio choice, only let her have two.
Only let, IS.cf
'Tis true I'd difpenfe -with a throne on her back.
And white teeth, I own, ars genteeler than black ;
A little round chin too's a beauty I've heard.
But I only defite — file mayn't have a beard.
Shi mayn't, Gfc*
Sheridan'
A Tar's Sympathy.
I'VE known what 'tis to face a foe,
Where Death has laid his hundreds low,
What 'tis fatigues to undergo.
That might appall our nature ;
Yet never was a truth more clear.
That man's in danger, leaft in fear,
\\ hofe heart can fhed a generous tear,
T'relieve a fellow creature.
I've feen ftout hearts of whom one wave
Has in a moment made a grave,
Whofe lives not all the world could fave ;
Thefe things affedt our nature,
But not fo much as when the heart,
Some ray of comfort to impart,
.S^'ells up a generous tear to ftart,
T'relieve a fellow creature.
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