Why do we talk of shaded bowers,
When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain,
And nights are cold, and long the hours
That damp the ardour of the swain,
Who, parting from his rural fire,
All pleasure doth forego—
And here and there,
And everywhere,
Pursues the invading foe.
Yes, we must rest on frosts and snows!
No season shuts up our campaign!
Hard as the rocks, we dare oppose
The autumnal, or the wintery reign.
Alike to us, the winds that blow
In summer's season, gay,
Or those that rave
On Hudson's wave,
And drift his ice away.
Winter and war may change the scene!
The ball may pierce, the frost may chill;
And dire misfortunes intervene,
But freedom must be powerful still,
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who come with sail, who come with oar,
So cruel and unkind,
With servile chain, who strive in vain,
Our freeborn souls to bind. [Exit]
Lucinda (two months after)
They scold me, and tell me I must not complain,
To part a few weeks with my favourite swain!
He goes to the battle!—and leaves me to mourn—
And tell me—and tell me—and will he return?[123]
When he left me, he kiss'd me—and said, My sweet dear,
In less than a month I again will be here;
But still I can hardly my sorrows adjourn—
You may call me a witch—if ever I return.[124]
I said, My dear soldier, I beg you would stay;
But he, with his farmers,[125] went strutting away—
With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept—for I thought he would never return.[126]
Thyrsis
Fairest of the female train,
You must seek another swain,
Damon will not come again!
All his toils are over!
As you prized him, to excess,
Your loss is great, I will confess,
But, lady, yield not to distress—
I will be your lover.
Lucinda
Not all the swains the land can shew,
(If Damon is not living now)[127]
Can from my bosom drive my woe,
Or bid a second passion glow;—
For Damon has possession;
Not all the gifts that wealth can bring,
Nor all the airs that you can sing,
Nor all the music of the string
Can banish his impression.
Thyrsis