Songs

Amidst the shades and cool refreshing streams,
Where lovers ease their panting hearts in dreams,
Poor Damon lay; his grief so sadly printed in his face,
His looks disturb’d the pleasures of the place;
In hollow notes he sung his wretched fate,
His hopeless love and his Aminda’s hate.
The trembling birds about him throng,
Listen and murmur at his song
Which hinder’d their sweet strains so long.
But straight with charming notes
They stretch their warbling throats,
And all, with one consent and voice,
Invite the shepherd to rejoice.
But what can his sad soul inspire,
His heart so much by grief oppress’d?
A sigh (alas!) breaks from his breast,
Which frights the harmless birds
And damps the cheerful choir.