RINALDO
AND
ARMIDA
.
TO
A
LADY
SINGING
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
THE
goldfinch
swells
his
little
throat
,
And
loudly
pours
his
rural
note
;
High
poiz'd
above
his
nest
in
air
,
The
shrill
lark
chaunts
his
matins
clear
;
At
evening
brown
,
in
woodland
dale
Soft
gurgling
trills
her
amorous
tale
The
solitary
nightingale
;
But
what
avails
,
ye
feather'd
throng
Of
warblers
wild
,
your
feeble
song
?
Our
varying
passions
can
ye
move
With
warmer
hope
,
or
fonder
love
?
Or
run
your
notes
th'
enchanting
round
Through
all
the
labyrinths
of
sound
?
As
breathes
some
soft
angelic
strain
,
When
Midnight
spreads
her
solemn
reign
,
Entranc'd
the
lonely
hermit
lies
,
And
tastes
ideal
paradise
,
When
at
Armida's
feet
he
lay
,
So
sigh'd
Rinaldo's
soul
away
;
His
tongue
in
mute
attention
bound
,
His
ear
in
rapture
drank
the
sound
,
While
magic
numbers
lull'd
the
sense
,
And
held
swift
thought
in
sweet
suspence
.
The
mimic
voice
repeat
the
gales
That
sigh
along
the
flowery
vales
;
The
flowery
vales
,
the
falling
floods
,
The
rising
rocks
,
and
waving
woods
To
the
sighing
gales
reply
,
Redoubling
all
the
harmony
.
The
Zephyrs
,
ever
mild
and
fair
,
Who
lightly
fan
the
vernal
air
,
Learn
from
Armida's
voice
the
strain
,
And
whispering
tell
it
to
the
main
.
Whene'er
,
the
foaming
billows
flowing
,
The
wintry
storms
are
fiercely
blowing
,
When
sable
clouds
invade
the
pole
,
And
lightnings
dart
,
and
thunders
roll
,
Th'
enchantress
can
the
rage
appease
,
And
clear
the
skies
,
and
smooth
the
seas
.
When
hurried
to
th'
infernal
coast
,
His
beauteous
bride
the
Thracian
lost
,
Sure
,
hapless
youth
!
so
sweet
a
spell
Once
more
had
charm'd
the
powers
of
hell
;
Or
if
such
had
been
the
song
Which
warbled
erst
the
syren
throng
,
For
councils
sage
the
chief
renown'd
His
warrior
limbs
had
vainly
bound
;
His
eyes
by
love
entranc'd
,
no
more
Had
seen
with
joy
their
native
shore
;
The
cords
had
loos'd
;
the
magic
tale
Had
stay'd
his
oars
,
and
furl'd
his
sail
.