DESPONDENT.
(Occasioned by hearing a pathetic air played on the Flute.)
Oh! cease, sweet Minstrel, cease to play,My eyes with tears are filling fast;I see life’s pleasures fade away,I feel misfortune’s coldest blast.Thy witching strain is sad and sweet,I cannot bear its melting sound;It tells of joys that passed too fleet,And early loves in sorrow drowned.I see the ranks of early yearsLike awful spectres pass along;I see a dismal lake of tears,I hear lost Hope’s expiring song.Then cease, Musician! cease to play,My heavy heart is filled with grief;And every note but seems to say—The world for me has no relief.
Oh! cease, sweet Minstrel, cease to play,My eyes with tears are filling fast;I see life’s pleasures fade away,I feel misfortune’s coldest blast.Thy witching strain is sad and sweet,I cannot bear its melting sound;It tells of joys that passed too fleet,And early loves in sorrow drowned.I see the ranks of early yearsLike awful spectres pass along;I see a dismal lake of tears,I hear lost Hope’s expiring song.Then cease, Musician! cease to play,My heavy heart is filled with grief;And every note but seems to say—The world for me has no relief.
Oh! cease, sweet Minstrel, cease to play,My eyes with tears are filling fast;I see life’s pleasures fade away,I feel misfortune’s coldest blast.
Thy witching strain is sad and sweet,I cannot bear its melting sound;It tells of joys that passed too fleet,And early loves in sorrow drowned.
I see the ranks of early yearsLike awful spectres pass along;I see a dismal lake of tears,I hear lost Hope’s expiring song.
Then cease, Musician! cease to play,My heavy heart is filled with grief;And every note but seems to say—The world for me has no relief.