I'll not wear a garland until she return. But, alas! that return I never shall see: The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim, There promised a lover to come — but, ah me! "Twas death came. -'twas the death of my mistress that But ever, for ever, her image shall last, I'll strip all the Spring of its earliest bloom; On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the new-blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb. SONG. BY A WOMAN. PASTORALE. With garlands of beauty the Queen of the May On the grave of Augusta these garlands be placed, CHORUS. ALTRO MODO. On the grave of Augusta this garland be placed, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, 14* YE captive tribes that hourly work and weep Air. FIRST PROPHET. Our God is all we boast below, To him we turn our eyes; *This was first printed from the original, in Dr. Goldsmith's own hand-writing, in the 8vo. edition of his Miscellaneous Works, published in 1820. And every added weight of wo Shall make our homage rise. SECOND PROPHET. And though no temple richly dress'd, We'll make his temple in our breast, And offer up a tear. [The first stanza repeated by the CHORUS. ISRAELITISH WOMAN. That strain once more! it bids remembrance rise, Air. O Memory! thou fond deceiver, To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain. Hence, intruder most distressing! Seek the happy and the free: The wretch who wants each other blessing, Ever wants a friend in thee. SECOND PROPHET. Yet why complain? What though by bonds confined? Should bonds repress the vigor of the mind? Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun For superstitious rites and mirth profane? Air. The triumphs that on vice attend The good man suffers but to gain, No spicy fragrance while they grow; FIRST PROPHET. But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near, Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale: The growing sound their swift approach declares Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs. Enter CHALDEAN PRIESTS attended. Air. FIRST PRIEST. Come on, my companions, the triumph display, The sun calls us out on this festival day, SECOND PRIEST. Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies, Air. CHALDEAN WOMAN. Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure, A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT. Or rather, love's delights despising, Haste to raptures ever rising, Wine shall bless the brave and free. FIRST PRIEST. Wine and beauty thus inviting, Whither shall my choice incline. |