* * * * *

XIII.

SONGS IN “THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.”

  I.

  Wherever I am, and whatever I do,
    My Phyllis is still in my mind;
  When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go,
    My feet, of themselves, the way find: 
  Unknown to myself I am just at her door,
  And when I would rail, I can bring out no more,
    Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind!

  When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast,
    And the love I would stifle is shown;
  But asleep or awake I am never at rest,
    When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. 
  Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind;
  But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find,
    How I sigh to myself all alone!

  Should a king be my rival in her I adore,
    He should offer his treasure in vain: 
  Oh, let me alone to be happy and poor,
    And give me my Phyllis again! 
  Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind,
  I could to a desert with her be confined,
    And envy no monarch his reign.

  Alas!  I discover too much of my love,
    And she too well knows her own power! 
  She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove,
    And makes me grow jealous each hour: 
  But let her each minute torment my poor mind,
  I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind,
    Than ever be freed from her power.

II.

HE.  How unhappy a lover am I,
While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain: 
All my hopes of delight
Are another man’s right,
Who is happy, while I am in pain!

SHE.  Since her honour allows no relief,
But to pity the pains which you bear,
’Tis the best of your fate,
In a hopeless estate,
To give o’er, and betimes to despair.

HE.  I have tried the false medicine in vain;
For I wish what I hope not to win: 
From without, my desire
Has no food to its fire;
But it burns and consumes me within.

SHE.  Yet, at least, ’tis a pleasure to know
That you are not unhappy alone: 
For the nymph you adore
Is as wretched, and more;
And counts all your sufferings her own.

HE.  O ye gods, let me suffer for both;
At the feet of my Phyllis I’ll lie: 
I’ll resign up my breath,
And take pleasure in death,
To be pitied by her when I die.

SHE.  What her honour denied you in life,
In her death she will give to your love. 
Such a flame as is true
After fate will renew,
For the souls to meet closer above.

* * * * *

XIV.

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA.

Who ever saw a noble sight,
That never view’d a brave sea-fight! 
Hang up your bloody colours in the air,
Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare;
Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright. 
Now each man his brindace, and then to the fight. 
St George, St George, we cry,
The shouting Turks reply. 
Oh, now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Ply it with culverin and with small shot;