Female Frailty

DAMON—LUCINDA—THYRSIS.

Damon.

IN vain you talk of shady bowers
When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain
And nights are cold, and long the hours
That damp the ardour of the swain,
Who, parting from his social fire,
All comfort doth forego,
And here and there, and every where,
Pursues the invading foe.
But we must sleep on frosts and snows,
No season hinders our campaign,
Hard as the oaks, we dare oppose
The autumnal or the wint'ry reign:
Alike to us the winds that blow
In summer's season gay,
Or those that rave on Hudson's cave,
And drift his ice away
Winter and death may change the scene,
The ball may pierce, the cold may kill,
And dire misfortunes intervene,
But Freedom shall be potent still
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who, cruel and unkind,
With slavish chain shall strive, in vain,
Our freeborn hearts to bind.

Lucinda.

They chide me, and tell me I must not complain
To part a few days with my favourite swain—
He is gone to the battle, and leaves me to mourn,
And, say what you please, he will never return.
When he left me, he kiss'd me, and said, "My sweet dear,
"In less than a month I again will be here."—
With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept, being sure he would never return.
I said, My dear creature, I beg you would stay—
But he, with his soldiers, went strutting away!
Then why should I longer my sorrows adjourn?—
You may call me a fool if he ever return.

Thyrsis.

Sweetest of the virgin train,
You must seek another swain,
Damon will not come again—
All his toils are over!
As you lov'd him to excess,
Your loss is great, I must confess;
But, madam, yield not to distress—
I will be your lover.

Lucinda.

Not all the swains the world can show
Can from this bosom drive this woe,
Or bid another passion glow
Where Damon has possession.
Not all the gifts that wealth can bring,
Not all the airs that you can sing,
Nor all the musick of that string
Can banish his impression.

Thyrsis.

Marriage and Death forever prove
Destructive to the flames of love,
With equal strength they both combine
Hearts once united to disjoin;
Hence mutual loves so soon remit,
Hence die the fires that Cupid lit.
Female tears and April snow
Sudden come and sudden go—
Since his head is levell'd low
Cease the memory of your woe.
Never yet was reason found
So distracted with love's wound
As to be in sorrow drown'd
For a lover under ground.

Lucinda.

What a picture have I seen!—
What can all these visions mean!—
Winter groves and empty halls,
Coffins wrapt in velvet palls,
Monuments and funerals;
Forms terrific to the fight,
Weeping phantoms clad in white,
Streams that ever seem'd to freeze
Planted round with cypress trees
Ever drooping—never green—
What a vision have I seen!—
One I saw of angel kind,
From the dregs of life refin'd,
All in beams of light array'd,
And thus the gentle spirit said—
"Fair Lucinda, come to me:
"What has grief to do with thee?
"O forsake that joyless shore,
"Shrouded all with darkness o'er—
"Could you but a moment stray
"In the meadows where I play,
"You would beg to come away—
"Come away! and speed thy flight,
"All with me is endless light."

Thyrsis.

You have not yet forgot your glooms,
The heavy heart, the downcast eye,
The cheek that no gay smile assumes,
The breast that heaves a sigh.

Lucinda.

Had you the ??? cause to grieve
That in this ??? doth lie,
Instead of ??? to relieve,
You ??? be just as I.

Thyrsis.

What secret cause have you to grieve—
A lover gone away?—
If one was able to deceive,
Perhaps another may.

Lucinda.

My lover has not me deceiv'd,
A part he would disdain—
But he is gone—and I am griev'd—
He'll never come again—
He'll never come again!

Thyrsis.

The turtle on yon' wither'd bough,
That lately mourn'd her murder'd mate,
Has found another comrade now—
Such changes all await!
Again her drooping plume is drest,
Again she's willing to be blest,
And takes her lover to her nest.
If nature has deed it so
With all above, and all below,
Let us, like them, to ??? our woe,
And not be kill'd with sorrow.
If I should quit your arms to night
And chance to die before 'twas light,
I would advise you—and you might
Love again to-morrow.

Lucinda.

The turtle on yon' wither'd tree!
That turtle never felt like me—
Her grief is but a moment's date;
Another day another mate—
Besides, observe, the feather'd race
Hold a new lover no disgrace—
How would the world my guilt display!
What would censorious Chloe say—
Would say—while laughing folly hears—
"She made a conquest by her tears."

Thyrsis.

My Polly—once the pride of all
That shepherd lads their charmers call—
Too early parted with her bloom,
And sleeps in yonder furzy tomb—!
Her fate has set me free—
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
But what is that to me!
Since all must bow to death's arrest,
No love deceas'd shall rack my breast—
Come, then, Lucinda, and be blest.

Lucinda.

My Damon O!—can I forget
The day you left these longing eyes
O'er northern lakes to wander far
To colder climes, and darker skies!—
There, shrouded in his wastes of snow,
The Briton guards the joy shore,
And there my Damon wanders now—
The swain that shall return no more!

Thyrsis.

Weep, weep no more, my lovely lass—
The pang is o'er that fix'd his doom—
They too shall to destruction pass,
Nor find a triumph in a tomb.—
Ah! dry these tears—enough are shed—
They too shall have their hour of woe;
Fled is their fame—their honours fled—
For WASHINGTON shall lay them low.

Lucinda.

If you had once a soldier's guise,
The splendid coat, the sprightly air,
You might seem charming in these eyes,
Nor would I quite despair.
There's something in your face, I find
Recalling Damon to my mind—
He's dead—but I must be resign'd!
His handsome shape, his manly face,
His youthful step in you I trace—
All, all I wish for, but the lace.

Thyrsis.

For you I would forego my ease,
And traverse lakes, or ravage seas,
And dress in lace, or what you please.
This enchanting month of May,
So bright, so bloomy, and so gay,
Claims our nuptials on this day.
For her vernal triumphs, we
Tune the harp to symphony—
Conquest has attended me!
Brightest season for the mind,
Vigorous, free, and unconfin'd,
Golden age of human kind.
Still at variance with thy charms
Death's eternal empire stands
Hymen, come—while rapture warms,
And give Lucinda to my arms.