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Tho' battle calls me from thy arms.
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet, safe from harm,
William shall to his dear return:
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet, safe from harm,
William shall to his dear return:
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer must she stay on board,
They kiss'd, she sigh’d, he hung his head
Her less’ning boat unwilling rows to land,
Adieu, she cries, and wav’d her lily hand.
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer must she stay on board,
They kiss'd, she sigh’d, he hung his head
Her less’ning boat unwilling rows to land,
Adieu, she cries, and wav’d her lily hand.
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Death of General Wolfe.
In a mouldring cave, a wretched retreat,
Britannia sat wasted with care:
She wept for her Wolfe, then exclaim’d against Fate,
And gave herself up to despair.
The walls of her cell she had sculptur’d around
With th’ exploits of her favourite son;
Nay even the dust, as it lay on the ground,
Was engrav’d with some deeds he had done.
Britannia sat wasted with care:
She wept for her Wolfe, then exclaim’d against Fate,
And gave herself up to despair.
The walls of her cell she had sculptur’d around
With th’ exploits of her favourite son;
Nay even the dust, as it lay on the ground,
Was engrav’d with some deeds he had done.
The sire of the gods, from his chrystaline throne,
Beheld the disconsolate dame,
And, mov’d with her tears, sent Mercury down,
And these were the tidings that came:
Beheld the disconsolate dame,
And, mov’d with her tears, sent Mercury down,
And these were the tidings that came:
