Song

While soft Zelinda from yon Hill
The Silver Tide surveys,
The Air so mild, the Wind so still,
It gently fans the Sprays.

The pensive Nymph array'd in Green,
With golden Tresses spread,
Her snowy Arm reclin'd is seen,
On which she leans her Head.

To Love's Delights she tun'd her Tongue,
The Turtles ceas'd to coo,
The Linnets listen'd as she sung,
And seem'd to feel them too.

Alexis was the lovely Name
Which warbl'd through the Gale,
Echo return'd the charming Theme,
Still vocal in the Vale.

Alexis! dear deceitful Swain,
Why to my Passion blind?
O! give me back that Heart again,
Which I so late resign'd.

Or come, thou cruel conquering Boy,
Come crown the Vows you made,
Those Preludes to Love's raptur'd Joy,
When in the conscious Shade:

Where thy bewitching Language stole
Like Magic through my Breast,
Unlock'd the Secrets of my Soul,
And rifled all the rest.

Yet still I watch thy dear Return,
Still haunt each happy Place,
Where mutual Flames did equal burn,
And mutual Arms embrace.

But fly, Inconstant, from me go;
Why should a Nymph pursue
A faithless Swain who shuns her so,
A Swain that's never true?

O yes! reply'd my yielding Heart,
Itself alas! thy Prize,
Who can resist thy tempting Art,
Or long withstand those Eyes?