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Garret Wesley, 1st Earl of Mornington
(1735 - 1781)
Oberon
(S.A.T.B. + reduction)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(1735 - 1781)
Oberon
(S.A.T.B. + reduction)
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Between 1763 and 1794 Thomas Warren published, through differing publishers, an annual collection of catches, canons and glees, under the aegis of the Catch Club. This item was published in the nineteenth collection.
Lyrics: Philip Parsons
Mark mortals, with awe profound,
What solemn stillness reigns around;
Know then, though strange it may appear,
Spirits inhabit here.
Whene'er we leave the circled green
We fairies choose this shady scene.
Though mortal hands have formed these bow'rs,
Yet is the sweet retirement ours;.
For here, when as the pallid moon
Riding at her highest noon,
Edging the clouds with silver white,
Darts through these shades a chequered light;
Here when we cease our airy sport
We range our bands and form our court.
My royal throne, exalted high,
Unseen by feeble mortal eye,
Though spangled with ten thousand dews,
Approach not with unhallowed hands
Beneath yon tall laburnum stands.
Then enter here with guiltless mind;
Spurn each vile passion far behind.
Hence envy with her pining train
And venal love of sordid gain;
Hence malice, hence rankling at the heart
And dire revenge with poison'd dart;
Hance lust with sly uneven mien
That through the twilight creeps unseen;
Hence vice; avoid this arching grove,
Pollution follows where you move;
Hence, hence nor near the spot be found;
Hence avaunt, 'tis holy ground.
Mark mortals, with awe profound,
What solemn stillness reigns around;
Know then, though strange it may appear,
Spirits inhabit here.
Whene'er we leave the circled green
We fairies choose this shady scene.
Though mortal hands have formed these bow'rs,
Yet is the sweet retirement ours;.
For here, when as the pallid moon
Riding at her highest noon,
Edging the clouds with silver white,
Darts through these shades a chequered light;
Here when we cease our airy sport
We range our bands and form our court.
My royal throne, exalted high,
Unseen by feeble mortal eye,
Though spangled with ten thousand dews,
Approach not with unhallowed hands
Beneath yon tall laburnum stands.
Then enter here with guiltless mind;
Spurn each vile passion far behind.
Hence envy with her pining train
And venal love of sordid gain;
Hence malice, hence rankling at the heart
And dire revenge with poison'd dart;
Hance lust with sly uneven mien
That through the twilight creeps unseen;
Hence vice; avoid this arching grove,
Pollution follows where you move;
Hence, hence nor near the spot be found;
Hence avaunt, 'tis holy ground.