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James Oswald
(1710 - 1769)
Adieu ye groves, adieu ye plains
(Song, Temple of Apollo)
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Adieu ye groves, adieu ye plains
(Song, Temple of Apollo)
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Published in "The Musical Magazine", London c.1760.
Lyrics: Anon
Adieu ye groves, adieu ye plains,
All nature mourning lies;
See gloomy clouds and thick'ning rains
Obscure the lab'ring skies.
See from afar th'impending storm
With sullen haste appear;
See winter comes, a dreary form,
To rule the falling year.
No more the lambs, with gainsome bound,
Rejoice the gladden'd sight;
No more the gay enamell'd ground
Or sylvan scenes delight:
Thus Zephalinda, much lov'd maid,
Thy early charms shall fail;
The rose must droop, the lily fade,
And winter soon prevail.
Again the lark, sweet bird of day,
May rise on active wing;
Again the sportive herds may play
And hail reviving spring.
But youth, my fair, sees no return;
The pleasing bubble's o'er:
In vain its fleeting joys you mourn,
They fall to bloom no more.
Haste then, dear girl, that time improve,
Which art can ne'er regain,
In blissful scenes of mutual love,
With some distinguish'd swain.
So shall life's spring-like jocund May
Pass smiling and serene;
Thus summer, autumn glide away,
And winter close the scene.
Adieu ye groves, adieu ye plains,
All nature mourning lies;
See gloomy clouds and thick'ning rains
Obscure the lab'ring skies.
See from afar th'impending storm
With sullen haste appear;
See winter comes, a dreary form,
To rule the falling year.
No more the lambs, with gainsome bound,
Rejoice the gladden'd sight;
No more the gay enamell'd ground
Or sylvan scenes delight:
Thus Zephalinda, much lov'd maid,
Thy early charms shall fail;
The rose must droop, the lily fade,
And winter soon prevail.
Again the lark, sweet bird of day,
May rise on active wing;
Again the sportive herds may play
And hail reviving spring.
But youth, my fair, sees no return;
The pleasing bubble's o'er:
In vain its fleeting joys you mourn,
They fall to bloom no more.
Haste then, dear girl, that time improve,
Which art can ne'er regain,
In blissful scenes of mutual love,
With some distinguish'd swain.
So shall life's spring-like jocund May
Pass smiling and serene;
Thus summer, autumn glide away,
And winter close the scene.