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Twelve songs set to music by William Jackson of Exeter, Op. 1. London, c.1755.
Lyrics: Sappho (trans. Ambrose Phillips)
Blest as th'immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee;
And hears and sees thee all the while,
Sweetly speak and sweetly smile.
'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz'd, in transport toss'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glow'd a subtle flame,
Ran quick thro' all my vital frame:
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd;
My blood with gentle horror thrill'd.
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk and died away.
Blest as th'immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee;
And hears and sees thee all the while,
Sweetly speak and sweetly smile.
'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz'd, in transport toss'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glow'd a subtle flame,
Ran quick thro' all my vital frame:
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd;
My blood with gentle horror thrill'd.
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk and died away.