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Elizabeth Turner
(fl.1750 - 1756)
When Stella's charms first met mine eye
(T.Vn.Continuo)
Score, part(s) and cover page (PDF), €0.00 for bundled copies Download this item(fl.1750 - 1756)
When Stella's charms first met mine eye
(T.Vn.Continuo)
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Published in "Twelve Songs with Symphonies", London, c.1750.
Lyrics: Anon
When Stella's charms first met mine eye,
While yet unknown her name,
A falt'ring tongue and tell-tale sigh
My passion did proclaim.
But when her splendid birth I knew,
Ye gods! How much I strove
The guilty passion to subdue,
And screen my heart from love.
Oh! had I liv'd in happier time,
When love was free as air,
And ev'ry swain without a crime
Accosted any fair,
My artless vows had tried to move
The pity of her breast;
And pity rip'ning into love
Perchance had made me blest.
But, wretched, I each hope disclaim
That feeds my fond desire;
And ev'ry wish my breast can frame
Shall in that breast expire:
What tyrant custom can't approve
My reason shall reject;
And that which in its birth was love
Shall only be respect.
But Stella, should a struggling sigh
From my poor heart get free,
Or should you catch my guilty eye
When fondly fix'd on thee;
Oh! let me, let me be forgiv'n,
And think how hard's my task;
Since sinners may revere that heav'n
For which they dare not ask.
When Stella's charms first met mine eye,
While yet unknown her name,
A falt'ring tongue and tell-tale sigh
My passion did proclaim.
But when her splendid birth I knew,
Ye gods! How much I strove
The guilty passion to subdue,
And screen my heart from love.
Oh! had I liv'd in happier time,
When love was free as air,
And ev'ry swain without a crime
Accosted any fair,
My artless vows had tried to move
The pity of her breast;
And pity rip'ning into love
Perchance had made me blest.
But, wretched, I each hope disclaim
That feeds my fond desire;
And ev'ry wish my breast can frame
Shall in that breast expire:
What tyrant custom can't approve
My reason shall reject;
And that which in its birth was love
Shall only be respect.
But Stella, should a struggling sigh
From my poor heart get free,
Or should you catch my guilty eye
When fondly fix'd on thee;
Oh! let me, let me be forgiv'n,
And think how hard's my task;
Since sinners may revere that heav'n
For which they dare not ask.