Classic Poem

AIR.

HE.

A RISE , my fair! the doors unfold,
Receive me shivering with the cold.

RECITATIVE.

S HE. My heart amidst my slumbers wakes
And tells me my beloved speaks.

AIR.

H E. Arise, my fair! the doors unfold,
Receive me shivering with the cold;
The chill drops hang upon my head,
And night's cold dews my cheeks o'erspread:
Receive me dropping to thy breast,
And lull me in thy arms to rest.

RECITATIVE.

S HE. Obedient to thy voice I hie,
The willing doors wide open fly.

AIR.

Ah! whither, whither art thou gone?
Where is my lovely wanderer flown?
Ye blooming Virgins! as you rove,
If chance you meet my straying love,
I charge you tell him how I mourn,
And pant and die for his return.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Who is thy love, O charming Maid!
That from thy arms so late has stray'd?
Say what distinguish'd charms adorn
And finish out his radiant form?

AIR.

S HE. On his face the vernal rose,
Blended with the lily, glows;
His locks are as the raven black,
In ringlets waving down his back;
His eyes with milder beauties beam
Than billing doves beside the stream;
His youthful cheeks are beds of flow'rs,
Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs;
His lips are of the rose's hue,
Dropping with a fragrant dew;
Tall as the cedar he appears,
And as erect his form he bears.
This, O ye Virgins! is the swain
Whose absence causes all my pain.

RECITATIVE.

H E. Sweet Nymph! whom ruddier charms adorn
Than open with the rosy morn,
Fair as the moon's unclouded light,
And as the sun in splendour bright,
Thy beauties dazzle from afar
Like glittering arms that gild the war.

RECITATIVE.

S HE. O take me, stamp me on thy breast,
Deep let the image be imprest!
For Love, like armed Death, is strong,
Rudely he drags his slaves along:
If once to jealousy he turns,
With never-dying rage he burns.

DUET.

Thou soft invader of the soul,
O Love! who shall thy pow'r control?
To quench thy fires whole rivers drain,
Thy burning heat shall still remain.
In vain we trace the globe to try
If powerful gold thy joys can buy:
The treasures of the world will prove
Too poor a bribe to purchase Love.

CHORUS.

In vain we trace the globe to try
If powerful gold thy joys can buy:
The treasures of the world will prove
Too poor a bribe to purchase Love.