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Jonathan Battishill
(1738 - 1801)
Help me, each harmonious grove
(T.T.B.)
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Help me, each harmonious grove
(T.T.B.)
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Pub. London, c.1775.
Lyrics: Arthur Bradley
Help me, each harmonious grove,
Gently whisper, all ye trees,
Tune each warbling note to love,
And cool each mead with softest breeze;
Ah! breathe fresh odours, ev'ry flower,
All your various paintings shew;
Pleasing verdure grace each bow'r,
Around let ev'ry blessing flow.
Glide, ye limpid brooks, along;
Phoebus, glance thy mildest ray,
Murm'ring floods, repeat my song,
And tell what Colin dares not say.
'Tis Celia comes, whose charming air
Fires with love the rural swains;
Tell, ah! tell the blooming fair
That Colin dies if she disdains.
Help me, each harmonious grove,
Gently whisper, all ye trees,
Tune each warbling note to love,
And cool each mead with softest breeze;
Ah! breathe fresh odours, ev'ry flower,
All your various paintings shew;
Pleasing verdure grace each bow'r,
Around let ev'ry blessing flow.
Glide, ye limpid brooks, along;
Phoebus, glance thy mildest ray,
Murm'ring floods, repeat my song,
And tell what Colin dares not say.
'Tis Celia comes, whose charming air
Fires with love the rural swains;
Tell, ah! tell the blooming fair
That Colin dies if she disdains.