Part 40

James Thomson [1834-1882]

AMYNTA

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-crook, And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook; No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove; For ambition, I said would soon cure me of love.

Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do? Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow? Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.

Through regions remote in vain do I rove, And bid the wide ocean secure me from love! O fool! to imagine that aught could subdue A love so well founded, a passion so true!

Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine; Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine: Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, The moments neglected return not again.

Gilbert Elliot [1722-1777]

"O NANCY! WILT THOU GO WITH ME"

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town: Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lowly cot, the russet gown? No longer dressed in silken sheen, No longer decked with jewels rare, Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! when thou'rt far away, Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, canst thou face the parching ray, Nor shrink before the wintry wind? O! can that soft and gentle mien Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! canst thou love so true, Through perils keen with me to go, Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of woe? Say, should disease or pain befall, Wilt thou assume the nurse's care; Nor wistful those gay scenes recall Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay Strew flowers and drop the tender tear? Nor then regret those scenes so gay Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Thomas Percy [1729-1811]

CAVALIER'S SONG

If doughty deeds my lady please, Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm and fast his seat, That bears frae me the meed. I'll wear thy colors in my cap, Thy picture in my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart! Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take, Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye I'll dight me in array; I'll tend thy chamber door all night, And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I'll strive to catch; Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel', That voice that nane can match. Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take Though ne'er another trow me.

But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo! Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take Though ne'er another trow me.

Robert Cunninghame-Graham [? -1797?]

"MY HEART IS A LUTE"

Alas, that my heart is a lute, Whereon you have learned to play! For a many years it was mute, Until one summer's day You took it, and touched it, and made it thrill, And it thrills and throbs, and quivers still!

I had known you, dear, so long! Yet my heart did not tell me why It should burst one morn into song, And wake to new life with a cry, Like a babe that sees the light of the sun, And for whom this great world has just begun.

Your lute is enshrined, cased in, Kept close with love's magic key, So no hand but yours can win And wake it to minstrelsy; Yet leave it not silent too long, nor alone, Lest the strings should break, and the music be done.

Anne Barnard [1750-1825]

SONG From "The Duenna"

Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure you; For though your tongue no promise claimed, Your charms would make me true: Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong, For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And lovers in the young.

But when they find that you have blessed Another with your heart, They'll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a brother's part: Then, lady, dread not here deceit Nor fear to suffer wrong; For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And brothers in the young.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816]

MEETING