O fairest maid, I own thy pow'r, And triumph in my anguish. But ease, O charmer, ease my care, So I the dearest love thee. [This is the second song which Crawford wrote for Ramsay's collection: the heroine was a Miss Ann Hamilton.] SWEET SUSAN. WILLIAM CRAWFORD. The morn was fair, saft was the air, How sweet her face, where ev'ry grace I'll never fret, nor ban my fate, Yet though she's fair, and has full share Each good turns ill, and soon will kill O bonny lass! have but the grace My wand'ring ghaist will ne'er get rest, But if ye're kind, with joyful mind Our years around with love thus crown'd, O sweetest Sue 'tis only you Can make life worth my wishes, But if thou shine, and make me thine [From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. Tradition alone has given this song to Crawford.] MY DEARIE IF THOU DIE. WILLIAM CRAWFORD. Love never more shall give me pain, Thy beauty doth such pleasure give, If fate shall tear thee from my breast, In dreary dreams the night I'll waste, I ne'er can so much virtue find, Then I'll renounce all womankind, No new-blown beauty fires my heart With Cupid's raving rage; But thine, which can such sweets impart, Must all the world engage. 'Twas this, that like the morning sun, Gave joy and life to me; And when its destin'd day is done, With Peggy let me die. Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, Oh! never rob them from these arms- [From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.] MY LOVE ANNIE'S VERY BONNIE. WILLIAM CRAWFORD. What numbers shall the Muse repeat? Each swain admires, and owns she's bonnie. Since first she trod the happy plain She sets each youthful heart on fire; Each nymph does to her swain complain That Annie kindles new desire. This lovely darling, dearest care, This new delight, this charming Annie, Like summer's dawn, she's fresh and fair, When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. All day the amorous youths convene, Joyous they sport and play before her; All night, when she no more is seen, In blissful dreams they still adore her. Among the crowd Amyntor came, He look'd, he lov'd, he bow'd to Annie ; His rising sighs express his flame, His words were few, his wishes many. With smiles the lovely maid reply'd, Kind shepherd, why should I deceive ye? Alas! your love must be deny'd, This destin'd breast can ne'er relieve ye. Young Damon came with Cupid's art, Cease, poor Amyntor, cease bewailing. On yonder plain the nymphs are many : Then choose some heart that's unconfin'd, And leave to Damon his own Annie. [From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.] AH THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE. WILLIAM HAMILTON. Born 1704-Died 1754. Ah the poor shepherd's mournful fate, When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish, To bear the scornful fair one's hate, Nor dare disclose his anguish. |