SONG. BESIDE Some gently murm'ring stream, Bright with the ev'ning sun's last beam, And there, in many a dying strain, Of Delia's cruelty complain, Till garish day retire. But when the shades of night descend, With folded arms, and slow; Pleas'd to out-muse each moon-light hour, Invoking ev'ry friendly pow'r To ease a lover's woe. Awake! in soothing sounds, my lyre, And let me lose each low desire In harmony divine; And if there be a wood-nymph near, Oh, let her whisper in mine ear, "Fair Delia shall be thine," SONG. CEASE thy mourning, blue-ey'd maid, Why should youth's fair roses fade Sorrow for departed joys, On the future fix thy gaze, Pleasure unalloy'd with care. All thy paths are strew'd with flow'rs, Rich in fragrance, fair to sight, Waste not then the precious hours, Time is hasty in his flight! O! improve life's pleasant spring, Blue-ey'd maid, it cannot last! THE CURFEW. HARK! the solemn curfew bell, Hath the day-star then declin'd? Yes, 'tis faded into night; So alas, my darken'd mind, Bids farewell to pleasure's light. Will the morning sun anew, |