A Song Poem by Henry Baker
A Song
Great Love! thou universal King!
From whom our Joys and Sorrows spring,
Take Pity on my Pain;
Command Eliza, in whose Eyes
The Force of mighty Magick lyes,
To ease a lovesick Swain.
'Tis she for whom I daily pray,
'Tis she for whom I pine away,
She's all my Hope and Care:
From her the Torments I endure,
From her alone must come my Cure,
By Kindness, or Despair.
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4/24/2024 11:34:58 PM # 1.0.0.1119
