SONG. BY A WOMAN.—AMOROSO.
Lovely, lasting Peace below,
Comforter of every woe,
Heav’nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky— 115
Lovely, lasting Peace, appear;
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
WOMAN SPEAKER.
Our vows are heard! Long, long to mortal eyes, 120
Her soul was fitting to its kindred skies:
Celestial-like her bounty fell,
Where modest want and patient sorrow dwell;
Want pass’d for merit at her door,
Unseen the modest were supplied, 125
Her constant pity fed the poor—
Then only poor, indeed, the day she died.
And oh! for this! while sculpture decks thy shrine,
And art exhausts profusion round,
The tribute of a tear be mine, 130
A simple song, a sigh profound.
There Faith shall come, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay;
And calm Religion shall repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there. 135
Truth, Fortitude, and Friendship shall agree
To blend their virtues while they think of thee.
AIR. CHORUS.—POMPOSO.
Let us, let all the world agree,
To profit by resembling thee.
PART II
OVERTURE—PASTORALE
MAN SPEAKER.
FAST by that shore where Thames’ translucent stream
Reflects new glories on his breast,
Where, splendid as the youthful poet’s dream,
He forms a scene beyond Elysium blest—
Where sculptur’d elegance and native grace 5
Unite to stamp the beauties of the place,
While sweetly blending still are seen
The wavy lawn, the sloping green—
While novelty, with cautious cunning,
Through ev’ry maze of fancy running, 10
From China borrows aid to deck the scene—
There, sorrowing by the river’s glassy bed,
Forlorn, a rural bard complain’d,
All whom Augusta’s bounty fed,
All whom her clemency sustain’d; 15
The good old sire, unconscious of decay,
The modest matron, clad in homespun gray,
The military boy, the orphan’d maid,
The shatter’d veteran, now first dismay’d; These sadly join beside the murmuring deep, 20
And, as they view
The towers of Kew,
Call on their mistress—now no more—and weep.
CHORUS.—AFFETTUOSO.—LARGO.
Ye shady walks, ye waving greens,
Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes— 25
Let all your echoes now deplore
That she who form’d your beauties is no more.