« ForrigeFortsett »
Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store,
You ask what party I pursue ?
I love my country from my soul,
Weekly Amusement. SONG.
Sweet are the charms of her I love,
More fragrant than the damask rose, Soft as the down of turtle-dove,
Gentle as winds when zephyr blows, Refreshing as descending rains To sup-burnt climes and thirsty plains.
True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun, Constant as gliding waters roll,
Whose swelling tides obey the moon ; From ev'ry other charmer free, My life and love shall follow thee.
The lamb the flow'ry thyme devours,
The dam the tender kid pursues, Sweet Philomel, in shady bow'rs
Of verdant spring, her notes renews ; All follow what they most admire, As I pursue my soul's desire.
Nature must change her beauteous face,
And vary as the seasons rise ;
Summer th' approach of autumn flies :
Devouring time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
In his rude march he levels low :
Death, only, with his cruel dart
The gentle godhead can remove,
To mingle with the blest above ;
Love, and his sister fair, the Soul,
Twin-born, from heav'n together came; Love will the universe control,
When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his pow'r, When time and death shall be no more.
Banisa'd by your severe command,
I make an awful, sad retreat, To some more bospitable land,
But shall I then my fair forget?
No, there I'll charm the list’ning throng,
With repetitions of your name; My passion tell in plaintive song,
And, sadly pensive, sooth my flame.
With inbred sighs, the grateful swains
My tale will beg me to renew ; Sweetly appeas’d, beguile their pains,
Transported when I speak of you.
But, should some curious youth demand
Why from my beauteous theme I stray, With what confusion should I stand,
What wou'd my charmer have me say?
THE QUEEN OF FRANCE TO HER
JUST BEFORE HER EXECUTION.
From my prison with joy could I go,
And with smiles meet the savage decree,
holds no terrors for me.
But from you, O my children, to part !
Oh! a coward, I melt at my doom; Ye draw me to earth, and my heart
Sighs for life, and shrinks back from the tomb.
List, list not to calumny’s lie,
For I know not of guilt or its fears; And when at my fate ye will sigh,
My ghost shall rejoice in your tears.
In blessings, ah! take my last breath!
Dear babes of my bosom, adieu !