The Distracted Lover
I go to the Elysian shade
by Henry Carey
Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still surround me.
I fly from Celia's cold disdain,
From her disdain I fly;
She is the cause of all my pain,
For her alone I die.
Her eyes are bright than the midday sun,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine
And gild all nature with a warmth divine.
See yonder river's flowing tide,
Which now so full appears:
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.
There I have wept till I could weep no more,
And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store;
Then, like the clouds that rob the azure main,
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.
Pity my pains,
Ye gentle swains!
Cover me with ice and snow,
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!
Furies, tear me,
Quickly bear me
To the dismal shade below!
Where yelling and howling,
And grumbling and growling
Strike the ear with horrid woe.
Would be a pleasure and a cure.
Not all the hells,
Where Pluto dwells,
Can give such pain as I endure.
To some peaceful plain convey me,
On a mossy carpet lay me,
Fan me with ambrosial breeze,
Let me die, and so have ease!