MELODY.
Yes, once more that dying strain,
Anna, touch thy lute for me;
Sweet, when pity's tones complain,
Doubly sweet is melody.
While the Virtues thus enweave
Mildly soft the thrilling song,
Winter's long and lonesome eve
Glides unfelt, unseen, along.
Thus when life hath stolen away,
And the wintry night is near,
Thus shall virtue's friendly ray
Age's closing evening, cheer.
SONG.
BY WALLER.
A Lady of Cambridge lent Waller's Poems to the Author, and when he returned them to her, she discovered an additional stanza written by him at the bottom of the song here copied.
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her, that wastes her time on me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired,
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.