Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.
About this Item
Title
Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.
Author
Barker, Jane.
Publication
London :: Printed for Benjamin Crayle ...,
1688.
Rights/Permissions
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
Subject terms
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
Songs, English -- Texts.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A30923.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A30923.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 15, 2024.
Pages
descriptionPage 137
An ODE.
By Mr. R. D. of Cambridge.
O Ye blest Pow'rs, propitious beUnto my growing Love!None can create my Misery,If Cloe but constant prove.Tell her if that she pity me,From her you'll ne'er remove.
Each Brize of Air, my groans shall bear,Unto her gentle Breast;Silently whisp'ring in her Ear,I never can be blest;If she refuse to be my Dear,I never can have rest.
Ye Groves, that hear each day my grief,Bear witness of my pain;
descriptionPage 138
Tell her I dye, if no reliefI from her Pow'r can gain;Tell her, ah, tell that pretty Thief,I dye through her disdain.
Likely she may with piteous Eyes,When dead, my Hearse survey;And when my Soul 'mongst DeitiesDoth melt in Sweets away,Then may she curse those VictoriesThat did my Heart betray.
email
Do you have questions about this content? Need to report a problem?
Please contact us.