Rinaldo

Hark! the turtle-dove is calling,

And the nightingale replies;
Wat’ry flakes and jets are falling,

Mingling with their melodies.

But all of them say:

Her only we mean;
But all fly away,

As soon as she’s seen,—
The beauteous young maiden,

With graces so rife,

Then lily and rose

In wreaths are entwining;

In dancing combining,
Each zephyr that blows

Its brother is greeting,

All flying and meeting,
With balsam full laden,

When waken’d to life.

CHORUS.

No! no longer may we wait;
Rouse him from his vision straight!
Show the adamantine shield!