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Twelve songs set to music by William Jackson of Exeter, Op. 1. London, c.1755.
Lyrics: Horace (trans. Philip Francis)
While liquid odours round him breathe,
What youth, the rosy bow'r beneath,
Now courts thee to be kind?
For whose unwary heedless heart,
Do you, thus drest with careless art,
Your yellow tresses bind.
How often shall th'unpractis'd youth
Of alter'd gods and injur'd truth,
With tears, alas, complain!
How soon behold, with wond'ring eyes,
The black'ning wind's tempestuous rise,
And scowl along the main.
While by his easy faith betray'd
He now enjoys thee, golden maid,
All amiable and kind;
He fondly hopes that you shall prove
Thus ever vacant to his love,
Now heeds the faithless wind.
Unhappy they, to whom untried,
You shine alas! in beauty's pride;
While I now safe on shore,
Will consecrate the pictur'd storm,
And all my grateful vows perform,
To Neptune's saving pow'r.
While liquid odours round him breathe,
What youth, the rosy bow'r beneath,
Now courts thee to be kind?
For whose unwary heedless heart,
Do you, thus drest with careless art,
Your yellow tresses bind.
How often shall th'unpractis'd youth
Of alter'd gods and injur'd truth,
With tears, alas, complain!
How soon behold, with wond'ring eyes,
The black'ning wind's tempestuous rise,
And scowl along the main.
While by his easy faith betray'd
He now enjoys thee, golden maid,
All amiable and kind;
He fondly hopes that you shall prove
Thus ever vacant to his love,
Now heeds the faithless wind.
Unhappy they, to whom untried,
You shine alas! in beauty's pride;
While I now safe on shore,
Will consecrate the pictur'd storm,
And all my grateful vows perform,
To Neptune's saving pow'r.