Joseph William Holder
(1764 - 1832)

Ianthe
(S.S.B. (or T.T.B.))
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From Holder's somewhat grandiloquently titled Op. 14
Lyrics: Anon

While the deep shades of night prevail,
Yon moon in pallid lustre see;
As constant as she gilds the vale,
Raymond, Ianthe thinks of thee.

Yes, thou art treasur'd in a heart
Where love and constancy agree;
And tho' mistrust may bid us part
Ianthe, mourning, thinks of thee.

To some more rich, more happy maid
Go breathe the sighs once breath'd to me;
Till low in earth her head be laid,
Ianthe still shall think of thee.

Ah, may thy bosom never share
One grief of all that tortures me;
In patient, solitary care
Ianthe, mourning, thinks of thee.