A HYMN. O LORD, my God, in mercy turn, O leave me, leave me not to die! I strove against thee, Lord, I know, O pleasures past, what are ye now For pleasure I have given my soul; Yet Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling, MELODY. Inserted in a Collection of Songs selected, and originally published, by the Rev. J. Plumptre, of Clare Hall, Cambridge. I. YES, once more that dying strain, Anna, touch thy lute for me; II. While the Virtues thus inweave Mildly soft the thrilling song; Winter's long and lonesome eve, III. 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 Henry, 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 and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, 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. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share, That are so wonderous sweet and fair. [Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; That goodness Time's rude hand defies, H. K. WHITE. "I AM PLEAS'D, AND YET I'M SAD." I. WHEN twilight steals along the ground, One, two, three, four, and five; I at my study window sit, And wrapt in many a musing fit, To bliss am all alive. II. But though impressions calin and sweet, I am pleas'd, and yet I'm sad. VOL. II. III. The silvery rack that flies away, Does that disturb my breast? Or pleasure's fading vest? IV. Is it that here I must not stop, Now surely no, for give but me V. Then is it that yon steeple there, When thou no more can'st hear? VI. Then whence it is I cannot tell, That holds me when I am glad ; And so the tear-drop fills my eye, When yet in truth I know not why, Or wherefore I am sad. |