Classic Poem

R ECIT .

Lysander brave and young,
Withheld by her whom more than life he priz'd,
And who for him all other youths despis'd,
E'er to the wars he did repair,
Thus address'd the weeping fair
With broken sighs and falt'ring tongue.

A IR

Who can to war's alarms
Fly from those folded arms?
Yet that must I.

O Cupid, god of love,
Would'st thou propitious prove,
Here let me die.

R ECIT .

While thus entranc'd he stood,
The silver trumpet from afar
Chides his delay, and calls to war:
New vigour fires his blood,
His soul is all alarm'd, he starts, he flies,
And to the trumpet's call he thus replies:

A IR

Sound, sound to arms, away, away,
Bellona calls, I must obey.
Yet 'tis hard fate to leave thee so,
But honour calls, and I must go.