notAmos Performing Editions 1 Lansdown Place East, Bath BA1 5ET, UK +44 (0) 1225 316145 Performing editions of pre‑classical music with full preview/playback and instant download |
Violoncello part (PDF), €0.10 for unlimited copies Buy this item
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item
Score, part(s) and cover page (PDF), €0.60 for bundled copies Buy this item
If you have any problem obtaining a PDF, please see our help page. If that does not resolve the issue, please click here.
Click on the illustration to display a larger version
Page 1 of 7
For licensing/copyright information please click here
| Enquire about this score |
| About Thomas Linley |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
| About Thomas Linley |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
Elegy V from "Elegies for three Voices with an accompanyment for a Harpsichord and Violoncello Composed by Thomas Linley of Bath. London. Printed by P, Welcher in Gerrard Street, Soho, for the Author, and sold at his house in Bath; and at the Music Shops, where may be had the Opera of ye Royal Merchant by the same Author." c.1770.
Lyrics: Anon, probably the composer
He who could first two gentle hearts unbind,
And rob a lover of his weeping fair;
Hard was the man, but harder in my mind
The lover who died not of despair.
Sad is my day, and sad my ling'ring night,
When, wrapped in silent grief, I weep alone;
Emira's gone, and all my past delight
Is now the source of unavailing moan.
Where is the wit that heightened beauty's charms?
Where is the face that fed my longing eyes?
Where is the shape that still might bless these arms?
Where are those joys relentless fate denies?
Oh! turn once more ere I with grief expire,
And while I fold thee blushing to my breast.
We'll breathe love's secret thoughts and fond desire,
And soothe the anguish of our souls to rest.
He who could first two gentle hearts unbind,
And rob a lover of his weeping fair;
Hard was the man, but harder in my mind
The lover who died not of despair.
Sad is my day, and sad my ling'ring night,
When, wrapped in silent grief, I weep alone;
Emira's gone, and all my past delight
Is now the source of unavailing moan.
Where is the wit that heightened beauty's charms?
Where is the face that fed my longing eyes?
Where is the shape that still might bless these arms?
Where are those joys relentless fate denies?
Oh! turn once more ere I with grief expire,
And while I fold thee blushing to my breast.
We'll breathe love's secret thoughts and fond desire,
And soothe the anguish of our souls to rest.