My lover has not me deceived,
An act he would disdain;
Oh! he is gone—and I am grieved—
He'll never come again!
He'll never come again!
Thyrsis
The turtle on yon' withered bough
Who lately moaned her murdered mate,
Has found another partner now,—
Such changes all await.
Again her drooping plume is dress'd,
Again she wishes to be bless'd,
And takes a husband to her nest.
If nature has decreed it so
With some above, and all below,
Let us, Lucinda, banish woe,[136]
Nor be perplext with sorrow:
If I should leave your arms this night,
And die before the morning light,
I would advise you—and you might
Wed again to-morrow.
Lucinda
The turtle on yon' withered tree!—
That turtle never felt like me!
Her grief is but a moment's date,
Another day, another mate:
And true it is, the feathered race
Hold many a partner no disgrace.
How would the world my fault display,
What would censorious Sally[137] say?
Would say, while grinning malice sneers,—[138]
She made a conquest by her tears!
Thyrsis
My Polly!—once the pride of all,
That shepherd lads their charmers call,
Too early parted with her bloom,
And sleeps in yonder sylvan tomb:
Her death has set me free—
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
But what is that to me!
Since all must bow to fate's arrest,[139]
No love deceased shall rack my breast—
Come, then, Lucinda, and be blest.
Lucinda
My Damon! Oh, can I forget
The hour you left these moistened eyes,
O'er northern lakes to wander far
To colder climes and dreary skies!
There, vengeful, in their wastes of snow
The Britons guard the frozen shore,
And Damon there is perished now,
The swain that shall return no more!
Thyrsis