To the Tune of, The bonny Gray-ey’d Morning.
CElestial muses, tune your lyres
Grace all my raptures with your lays,
Charming, enchanting Kate inspires,
In lofty sounds her beauties praise:
How undesigning she displays
Such scenes as ravish with delight;
Tho’ brighter than meridian rays,
They dazle not, but please the sight.
Blind God give this, this only dart,
I neither will nor can her harm,
I would but gently touch her heart,
And try for once if that cou’d charm.
Go, Venus, use your fav’rite wile,
As she is beauteous, make her kind,
Let all your graces round her smile,
And sooth her till I comfort find.
When thus, by yielding, I’m o’erpaid,
And all my anxious cares remov’d,
In moving notes, I’ll tell the maid,
With what pure lasting flames I lov’d.
Then shall alternate life and death,
My ravish’d flutt’ring soul possess,
The softest tend’rest things I’ll breath,
Betwixt each am’rous fond caress.
– New Words by Different Hands.