First Voice. Fair Lady! rest till morning blushes, Second Voice. Oh! Stranger when my Beads I'm counting, I'll bless thy name at Agnes' Fountain. First Voice. Thou, Pilgrim, turn and rest thy sorrow, Third Voice. Good Stranger! when my Beads I'm telling, My Saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling. Trio. Strew then, Oh! strew our bed of Rushes, CAN I AGAIN THAT LOOK RECALL. Can I again that look recal, Which once could make me die for thee? No, no, the eye that burns on all, Shall never more be priz'd by me. Can I again that form caress, Shall never more be press'd by mine. TAKE BACK THE SIGII. TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art In passion's moment breath'd to me; Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh Upon thy lip its sweets would die, Take back the vows that, night and day, FANNY DEAREST. OH! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, But between love, and wine and sleep, So busy a life I live, That even the time it would take to weep, The love's that order'd to bathe in wine, Reflected bright in this heart of mine, But Oh! the mirror would cease to shine, They lose the half of beauty's light, SWEET SEDUCER. SWEET seducer, ever smiling! Oh! be less, be less enchanting, FLY FROM THE WORLD, O RESSY. FLY from the world, oh, Bsesy, to me, I'll give up the world, oh Bessy! for thee, Then tell me no more with a tear and a sigh, Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, And thou, pretty innocent! fearest, I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heav'n, 'Tis only our lullaby, dearest! And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love, Looking back on the scene of our errors; A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, And death be disarm'd of its terrors! And each to the other embracing will say, "Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven !" Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, And a kiss be our passport to Heaven! HERE'S THE BOWER. HERE'S the Bower she lov'd so much, Here's' the Harp she us'd to touch,- Where's the hand to wreath them? Songs around neglected lie, Where's the lip to breath them? Here's the Bower she lov'd so much, Here's the harp she us'd to touch,- Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd Years were days, when here we stray'd, Nor Pity wept a dearer! Here's the Bower she lov'd so much, Here's the Harp she us'd to touch-- GOOD NIGHT. Good night, good night, and is it so ? Oh Rosa! say good night once more, Shall have an age of rapture in it! |