 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 |
Philip Hayes
(1738 - 1797)
O come. My dearest Delia
(A.T.B.)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(1738 - 1797)
O come. My dearest Delia
(A.T.B.)
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download 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
This work, Hayes : O come. My dearest Delia : scoreid 148219, as published by notAmos Performing Editions, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. All relevant attributions should state its URL as https://www.notamos.co.uk/detail.php?scoreid=148219. Permissions beyond the scope of this licence may be available at https://www.notamos.co.uk/index.php?sheet=about.
| Enquire about this score |
| About Philip Hayes |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
| About Philip Hayes |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
Published in The Muses' Delight, 1786.
Lyrics: Anon
O come, my dearest Delia, to my arms.
My soul awake, behold her heav'nly charms;
Behold her straying thro' yon lonely vale,
Singing more pleasing than the nightingale.
Her teeth are whiter than the driven snow,
Her jetty locks in careless ringlets flow;
Her blooming cheeks the damask rose out-vie,
Which at her beauteous form doth fade and die;
Her glossy eyes display a crystal hue,
Which Venus would with admiration view.
Come thee, O lovely Delia, to my arms,
Let me again embrace thy virgin charms.
But ah! alas, from me she's ever fled;
No more shall I with flow'rs adorn her head.
Again I'll to my lonely cott return;
For thee, O Delia, my fond heart shall burn.
O come, my dearest Delia, to my arms.
My soul awake, behold her heav'nly charms;
Behold her straying thro' yon lonely vale,
Singing more pleasing than the nightingale.
Her teeth are whiter than the driven snow,
Her jetty locks in careless ringlets flow;
Her blooming cheeks the damask rose out-vie,
Which at her beauteous form doth fade and die;
Her glossy eyes display a crystal hue,
Which Venus would with admiration view.
Come thee, O lovely Delia, to my arms,
Let me again embrace thy virgin charms.
But ah! alas, from me she's ever fled;
No more shall I with flow'rs adorn her head.
Again I'll to my lonely cott return;
For thee, O Delia, my fond heart shall burn.