"Tis his with mock passion to glow;
"Tis his in smooth tales to unfold-
'How her face is as bright as the snow,
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold:
How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie :
How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.'

To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet,
Then suiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
'O Phyllis! (he whispers) more fair,
More sweet, than the jessamine's flow'r!
What are pinks in a morn to compare?
What is eglantine after a show'r?

'Then the lily no longer is white,

Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom, Then the violets die with despight,

And the woodbines give up their perfume.' Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer;

-Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
-Yet may she beware of his art,

Or sure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

YE shepherds! give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray,
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my passion begun;
She smil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithless-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire,
It banishes wisdom the while,
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithless, and I am undone ;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reason instruct you to shun,

What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree; It is not for me to explain

How fair and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.

Yet time may diminish the pain:

The flower, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd such delight
As I with my Phyllis had known.

O ye woods! spread your branches apace,
To your deepest recesses I fly,

I would hide with the beasts of the chase,
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed shall resound through the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun;

How she smil❜d, and I could not but love!
Was faithless, and I am undone !

THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH.

A BALLAD.

ALLUDING TO A STORY RECORDED OF HER, WHEN SHE WAS PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK, 1554.

WILL you hear how once repining

Great Eliza captive lay,

Each ambitious thought resigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and sway?

6

While the nymphs and swains delighted
Tript around in all their pride,
Envying joys by others slighted,
Thus the royal maiden cried:

1

'Bred on plains, or born in vallies, Who would bid those scenes adieu ? Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts pursue? 'Malice never taught to treasure, Censure never taught to bear; Love is all the shepherd's pleasure; Love is all the damsel's care. "How can they of humble station Vainly blame the powers above;

Or accuse the dispensation,

Which allows them all to love?

Love, like air, is widely given;

Power nor Chance can these restrain

Truest, noblest gifts of Heaven!

Only purest on the plain!

'Peers can no such charms discover, All in stars and garters drest,

As on Sundays does the lover,

With his nosegay on his breast. 'Pinks and roses in profusion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near;
Fops may use the same allusion,
But the shepherd is sincere.
'Hark to yonder milkmaid singing
Cheerly o'er the brimming pail,
Cowslips, all around her springing,
Sweetly paint the golden vale.

'Never yet did courtly maiden
Move so sprightly, look so fair;
Never breast, with jewels laden,
Pour a song so void of care.

'Would indulgent Heaven had granted
Me, some rural damsel's part!
All the empire I had wanted,

Then had been my shepherd's heart.

• Then with him o'er hills and mountains,
Free from fetters might I rove,
Fearless taste the crystal fountains,
Peaceful sleep beneath the grove.

Rustics had been more forgiving,
Partial to my virgin bloom;
None had envied me when living,

None had triumph'd o'er my tomb.'