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Elegy I 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
Ah! What avails the sprightly morn of life,
Tho' blooming health adorn its brightening beam,
Tho' blushing honours crown the youthful brow,
And golden riches paint the transient dream?
These may amuse, and anxious thoughts employ,
But love alone can kindle into joy.
Blest be the hour, that happy hour,
When first I owned Emira's pow'r!
Then gloomy thoughts and pining care
Forsook my breast, and love reigned there.
Where yonder lime trees fan the air,
I saw, I loved the charming fair;
In tumults wild my soul was tossed,
And every wish of freedom lost.
Ah! how shall I deserve thy charms,
How win thee to my longing arms?
Let other swains to fame aspire,
Thy love is all that I require.
Ye nymphs, your freshest roses bring,
Crown her with all the pride of spring.
Let pleasure every hour employ,
And let her delight be Damon's joy.
While bees with murmurs fill the plain,
And sweets from every flower drain;
While stretched beneath the hillocks steep
The sheltered herds in safety sleep;
While fountains roll thro' flowery meads,
And forests lift their verdant heads,
With thee I'd wear my life away,
Insensibly with thee decay.
Ah! What avails the sprightly morn of life,
Tho' blooming health adorn its brightening beam,
Tho' blushing honours crown the youthful brow,
And golden riches paint the transient dream?
These may amuse, and anxious thoughts employ,
But love alone can kindle into joy.
Blest be the hour, that happy hour,
When first I owned Emira's pow'r!
Then gloomy thoughts and pining care
Forsook my breast, and love reigned there.
Where yonder lime trees fan the air,
I saw, I loved the charming fair;
In tumults wild my soul was tossed,
And every wish of freedom lost.
Ah! how shall I deserve thy charms,
How win thee to my longing arms?
Let other swains to fame aspire,
Thy love is all that I require.
Ye nymphs, your freshest roses bring,
Crown her with all the pride of spring.
Let pleasure every hour employ,
And let her delight be Damon's joy.
While bees with murmurs fill the plain,
And sweets from every flower drain;
While stretched beneath the hillocks steep
The sheltered herds in safety sleep;
While fountains roll thro' flowery meads,
And forests lift their verdant heads,
With thee I'd wear my life away,
Insensibly with thee decay.