Posts tagged ‘song’

Saturday, 19 January 2019

Song by Elizabeth Malet Wilmot

Nothing ades to Loves fond fire
More then scorn and cold disdain
I to cherish your desire
kindess used but twas in vain
you insulted on your Slave
To be mine you soon refused
Hope hope not then the power to have
Which ingloriously you used
Thinke not Thersis I will ere
By my love my Empire loose
you grow Constant through dispare
kindness you would soon abuse
Though you still possess my hart
Scorn and rigor I must fain
there remaines noe other art
your Love fond fugitive to gain.

From: Greer, Germaine; Hastings, Susan; Medoff, Jeslyn and Sansone, Melinda (eds.), Kissing the Rod: An Anthology of Seventeenth-Century Women’s Verse, 1988, Farrar Strauss Giroux: New York, pp. 230-231.

Date: 1680

By: Elizabeth Malet Wilmot (1651-1681)

Friday, 24 February 2017

Song by Michael Wodhull

What still does fair Lucy’s disdain
Occasion this festering smart;
Cannot time give relief to your pain,
And heal the slight wound in your heart?

The arrows of Cupid, I know,
At first are all pointed with steel:
But how frail is the strength of his bow!
How fleeting the pangs which we feel!

His wings they are shatter’d by Time,
His quiver is soil’d in the dust;
Such, such , is Life’s flowery prime,
And Beauty’s most insolent trust.

Taste the joys a new passion can give,
With the Nymph that’s complying and kind;
Or, learning more sagely to live,
Be blest, and give Love to the wind.

From: Wodhull, Michael, Poems, 1772, W. Bowyer and J. Nicholls: London, p. 53.

Date: 1772

By: Michael Wodhull (1740-1816)

Friday, 17 June 2016

Song by Thomas Bishop

When Wit and charming Beauty meet,
To form an excellence divine,
I own the conquest is compleat,
And with a willing joy my heart resign:
What fool so mad to hope for liberty
When chains like yours can make us more than free?

’Tis true, Eugenia, your fair eyes,
Had gain’d the conquest long before,
They made my heart your beauty’s prize,
But now your tongue has added something more.
Myself your slave by double force I find
You first attack’d my passions, now my mind.

From: Nichols, John (ed.), A Select Collection of Poems with Notes, Biographical and Historical, The Fourth Volume, 1780, J. Nichols: London, p. 25.

Date: 1683

By: Thomas Bishop (fl. 1683)

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Song by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Sweet Hope, my stay,
That onward to the goal of thy intent
Dost make thy way,
Heedless of hindrance or impediment,
Have thou no fear
If at each step thou findest death is near.

No victory,
No joy of triumph doth the faint heart know;
Unblest is he
That a bold front to Fortune dares not show,
But soul and sense
In bondage yieldeth up to indolence.

If Love his wares
Do dearly sell, his right must be contest;
What gold compares
With that whereon his stamp he hath imprest?
And all men know
What costeth little that we rate but low.

Love resolute
Knows not the word “impossibility;”
And though my suit
Beset by endless obstacles I see,
Yet no despair
Shall hold me bound to earth while heaven is there.


Date: 1605 (Spanish), 1885 (English)

By: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (c1547-1616)

Translated: by John Ormsby (1829-1895)

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Song by Sidney Godolophin

Noe more unto my thoughts appeare,
Att least appeare lesse fayre,
For crazy tempers justly feare
The goodnesse of the ayre;

Whilst your pure Image hath a place
In my impurer Mynde,
Your very shaddow is the glasse
Where my defects I finde.

Shall I not fly that brighter light
Which makes my fyres looke pale,
And put that vertue out of sight
Which makes myne none att all?

No, no, your picture doeth impart
Such valew I not wish
The native worth to any heart
That ‘s unadorn’d with this.

Though poorer in desert I make
My selfe whilst I admyre,
The fuell which from hope I take
I give to my desire.

If this flame lighted from your Eyes
The subject doe calcine,
A Heart may bee your sacrifice
Too weake to bee your shrine.


Date: 16??

By: Sidney Godolphin (c1610-1643)

Friday, 14 March 2014

Song by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Here’s to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here’s to the widow of fifty;
Here’s to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here’s to the housewife that’s thrifty.

Let the toast pass,–
Drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here’s to the charmer whose dimples we prize;
Now to the maid who has none, sir:
Here’s to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here’s to the nymph with but one, sir.

Let the toast pass,–
Drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here’s to the maid with a bosom of snow;
Now to her that’s as brown as a berry:
Here’s to the wife with her face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that’s merry.

Let the toast pass,–
Drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for the glass.

For let ’em be clumsy, or let ’em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e’en toast them together.

Let the toast pass,–
Drink to the lass,
I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for the glass.


Date: 1780

By: Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816)

Monday, 18 November 2013

Song by Winifred Mary Letts

If you let Sorrow in on you.
Surely she’ll stay,
Sitting there by the hearth
Till you wish her away.

If you see the grey cloak of her
Down the boreen,
Let you close the door softly
And wait there unseen.

For if she comes in on you
Never you’ll part,
Till the fire burns out
In the core of your heart.

From: Letts, W M, Songs From Leinster, 1920, John Murray: London, p. 101.

Date: 1913

By: Winifred Mary Letts (1882-1972)

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Song by John Keble

They say I am no faithful swain,
Because I do not fold my arms,
And gaze and sigh, and gaze again,
And curse my fair one’s fatal charms.
I cannot weep, I cannot sigh,
My fair one’s heart laughs in her eye.
I cannot creep like weary wight,
My fair one’s step is free and light.

When fix’d in memory’s mirror dwells
Some dear-lov’d form to fleet no more,
Transform’d as by Arabian spells,
We catch the likeness we adore.
Then ah ! who would not love most true ?
Who would not be in love with you ?
So might he learn the bliss of heart
Which waits on those who bliss impart,
Might learn through smiles and tears to shine,
Like Angels, and like Caroline.


From: Keble, John, The Christian Year, Lyra Innocentium and Other Poems, 1914, Oxford University Press: London, p. 476.(

Date: 1811

By: John Keble (1792-1866)

Friday, 10 May 2013

Song by Robert Dodsley

Man’s a poor deluded bubble,
Wand’ring in a mist of lies,
Seeing false, or seeing double,
Who wou’d trust to such weak eyes?
Yet presuming on his senses,
On he goes most wond’rous wise:
Doubts of truth, believes pretences;
Lost in error, lives and dies.


Date: 1745

By: Robert Dodsley (1703-1764)

Friday, 7 September 2012

Song by Arthur O’Shaughnessy

I made another garden, yea,
For my new love;
I left the dead rose where it lay,
And set the new above.
Why did the summer not begin?
Why did my heart not haste?
My old love came and walked therein.
And laid the garden waste.

She entered with her weary smile,
Just as of old;
She looked around a little while,
And shivered at the cold.
Her passing touch was death to all,
Her passing look a blight:
She made the white rose-petals fall,
And turned the red rose white.

Her pale robe, clinging to the grass,
Seemed like a snake
That bit the grass and ground, alas!
And a sad trail did make.
She went up slowly to the gate;
And there, just as of yore,
She turned back at the last to wait,
And say farewell once more.

From: O’Shaughnessy, Arthur, Music and Moonlight. Poems and Songs, 1874, Chatto and Windus: London, pp. 39-40.

Date: 1874

By: Arthur O’Shaughnessy (1844-1881)