Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/403

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 265 �Where Cynthia, lends her gentle light, �Whilst the appeas'd, expanded air, �A passage for thee, does prepare, �And Strephon's tunefull voyce, invite, �Thine, a soft part with him to bear. �Oh pleasure! when thou'dst take a flight, �Beyond thy comon, mortal height, �When to thy sphere above, thou'dst presse, �And men, like Angels, thou woud'st blesse, 20 �Thy season, be like this, fair Night, �And Harmony thy dresse. �THE BIKD �Kind bird, thy praises I design, �Thy praises, like thy plumes, shou'd shine; �Thy praises, shou'd thy life outlive, �Cou'd I the fame I wish thee, give. �Thou, my domestick musick art, �And dearest trifle of my heart. �Soft, in thy notes, and in thy dresse, �Softer, then numbers can expresse, �Softer then love, softer then light �When just escaping from the night, 10 �When first she rises, unaray'd, �And steals a passage through the shade. �Softer then air, or flying clouds �Which Phoebus glory, thinly shrouds, �Gay as the spring, gay as the flowers, �When lightly strew'd with pearly showers, �Ne'r to the woods shalt thou return, �Nor thy wild freedom, shalt thou mourn, �Thou, to my bosome shalt repair, �And find a safer shelter there; 20 �There shalt thou watch, and shou'd I sleep, ��� �