[Footnote 43: 'St Cecilia's Day': 22d November-birthday of St Cecilia, the patron saint of music-a Roman lady martyred in the third century, said to have been taught music by an angel.] * * * * * IV. THE TEARS OF AMYNTA, FOR THE DEATH OF DAMON. A SONG. 1 On a bank, beside a willow, Heaven her covering, earth her pillow, Sad Amynta sigh'd alone: From the cheerless dawn of morning Till the dews of night returning, Singing thus she made her moan: Hope is banish'd, Joys are vanish'd, Damon, my beloved, is gone! 2 Time, I dare thee to discover Such a youth and such a lover; Oh, so true, so kind was he! Damon was the pride of nature, Charming in his every feature; Damon lived alone for me; Melting kisses, Murmuring blisses: Who so lived and loved as we? 3 Never shall we curse the morning. Never bless the night returning, Sweet embraces to restore: Never shall we both lie dying, Nature failing, Love supplying All the joys he drain'd before: Death come end me, To befriend me: Love and Damon are no more. * * * * * V. THE LADY'S SONG.[44] 1 A Choir of bright beauties in spring did appear, To choose a May-lady to govern the year; All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green; The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen: But Phyllis refused it, and sighing did say, I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away. 2 While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more: The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires; And vows that himself and his mother will mourn, Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return. 3 Forbear your addresses, and court us no more; For we will perform what the Deity swore: But if you dare think of deserving our charms, Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms; Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn, When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return. * * * * * FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 44: Intended to apply to the banishment of King James and his wife, Mary of Este.] * * * * * VI. A SONG. 1 Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize Reserved for your victorious eyes: From crowds, whom at your feet you see, O pity, and distinguish me! As I from thousand beauties more Distinguish you, and only you adore. 2 Your face for conquest was design'd, Your every motion charms my mind; Angels, when you your silence break, Forget their hymns, to hear you speak; But when at once they hear and view, Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.