As Sylvia in a forest lay, To vent her woe alone, Her swain, Sylvander, came that way, And heard her dying moan, Ah! is my love, she said, to you So worthless and so vain? Why is your wonted fondness now Converted to disdain? This said -- all breathless, sick and pale, Her head upon her hand -- She found her vital spirits fail, And senses at a stand. Sylvander then began to melt, But ere the word was given, The heavy hand of death she felt, And sigh'd her soul to Heaven.
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by (Franz) Joseph Haydn (1732 - 1809), "The maid's complaint", JHW. XXXII/1 no. 84, Hob. XXXIa no. 84. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Ferdinando Albeggiani
This text was added to the website: 2012-08-14
Line count: 16
Word count: 91