And this spacious garden round,
Far extend the galleries;
Roses blossom near the ground,
High in air, too, bloom the trees.
Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling,
Sweet and silv'ry strains arise;
While the turtle-dove is calling,
And the nightingale replies.
CHORUS.
Gently come! feel no alarm,
On a noble duty bent;
Vanished now is ev'ry charm
That by magic power was lent.
Friendly words and greetings calm
On his wounds will pour soft balm,
Fill his mind with sweet content.
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:
