Essays on Song-writing: With a Collection of Such English Songs as are Most Eminent for Poetical Merit

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William Eyres, 1774 - Ballads, English - 286 pages
 

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Page 53 - Till, quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride, And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. " But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.
Page 94 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
Page 47 - TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go." " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
Page 92 - To visit some far distant shrine, If he bear but a relique away, Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus, widely remov'd from the fair, Where my vows, my devotion I owe ; Soft hope is the relique I bear, And my solace wherever I go.
Page 172 - For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to Love, And when we meet a mutual heart Come in between, and bid us part ? Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away; Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the life of life is gone...
Page 94 - With the lilac to render it gay ! Already it calls for my love To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves. What strains of wild melody flow!
Page 57 - Ah, Colin ! give not her thy vows, Vows due to me alone : Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, Nor think him all thy own.
Page 116 - A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give, But love on pity cannot live. Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, And love with love is only paid.
Page 54 - Twas Edwin's self that press'd. Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, ^ ^ Restored to love and thee. Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign ; And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine? No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 95 - Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine.

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