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A setting of the dirge in Cymbeline published in Twelve songs set to music by William Jackson of Exeter, Op. 1. London, c.1755.
Lyrics: William Collins
To fairest Delia's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghosts shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead the nightly crew;
But female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress the grove with pearly dew.
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds and beating rain
In tempest shake the sylvan cell,
Or midst the chase on ev'ry plain
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till pity's self be dead.
To fairest Delia's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghosts shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead the nightly crew;
But female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress the grove with pearly dew.
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds and beating rain
In tempest shake the sylvan cell,
Or midst the chase on ev'ry plain
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till pity's self be dead.