Essays on song-writing: with a collection of such English songs as are most eminent for poetical merit (Google eBook)

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Printed by W. Eyres for J. Johnson, 1774 - Ballads, English - 286 pages
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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 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 157 - When lovely woman stoops to folly. And finds, too late, that men betray. What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover. To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is to die.
Page 171 - OR 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...
Page 50 - The crackling faggot flies. But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising cares the Hermit spied, With answering care opprest : " And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, " The sorrows of thy breast ? " From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove?
Page 93 - Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green But a sweet-brier entwines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
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 71 - And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. Then to her new love let her go. And deck her in golden array ; Be...
Page 63 - That trembled o'er the brook. Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days ; Why didst thou...
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.

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