NANCY OF THE VALE.

A BALLAD.

Nerine Galatea; thymo mihi dulcior Hyble!
Candidior cygnis! hedera formosior alba!

O Galatea! Nereus' blooming child,

More sweet than thyme by Hybla bees exhal'd,
Fairer than swans, more beauteous to behold
Than ivy's purest white.

THE western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleasing ray,
And flocks, reviving, felt no more
The sultry heats of day;

When from an hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;
He bless'd the scene, he bless'd the hour,
While Nancy's praise he sung.

'Let fops with fickle falsehood range
The paths of wanton love,

While weeping maids lament their change, And sadden every grove:

'But endless blessings crown the day,

I saw fair Esham's dale!

And every blessing find its way

To Nancy of the Vale.

"Twas from Avona's banks the maid

Diffus'd her lovely beams,

And every shining glance display'd

The naiad of the streams.

< Soft as the wild duck's tender young That float on Avon's tide,

Bright as the water-lily, sprung,

And glittering near its side:

Fresh as the bordering flowers her bloom, Her eye all mild to view;

The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half so blue.

'Her shape was like the reed so sleek,
So taper, straight, and fair;

Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!

́ Far in the winding vale retir'd,

This peerless bud I found,

And shadowing rocks and woods conspir'd To fence her beauties round.

That Nature in so lone a dell

Should form a nymph so sweet! Or Fortune to her secret cell Conduct my wandering feet!

'Gay lordlings sought her for their bride, But she would ne'er incline:

"Prove to your equals true, (she cried)
As I will prove to mine.

""Tis Strephon, on the mountains brow,
Has won my right good will;
To him I gave my plighted vow,

With him I'll climb the hill."

'Struck with her charms and gentle truth, I clasp'd the constant fair;

To her alone I gave my youth,
And vow my future care.

And when this vow shall faithless prove,

Or I those charms forego;

The stream that saw our tender love,
That stream shall cease to flow.'

JEMMY DAWSON.

A BALLAD.

WRITTEN ABOUT THE TIME OF HIS EXECUTION, IN TEK
YEAR 1745.

COME listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear!
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor need you blush to shed a tear.
And thou dear Kitty, peerless maid!
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint—but mine.
Young Dawson was a gallant boy,
A brighter never trod the plain,
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid, she lov'd him dear;
Of gentle blood the damsel came;
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.
But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the favour'd youth astray,
The day the rebel clans appear'd;
Q had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found;
And now he must that death endure

Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek, When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, or yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice she, weeping, said→
'O Dawson! monarch of my heart!
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.

* Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes;
O George! without a prayer for thee
My orisons should never close.

The gracious prince that gave him life
Would crown a never-dying flame,
And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
'But though he should be drag'd in scorn
To yonder ignominious tree,

He shall not want one constant friend
To share the cruel fates' decree:'

O! then her mourning coach was call'd;
The sledge mov'd slowly on before,
Though borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more.

She follow'd him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behests of law,

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes

With calm and steadfast eye she saw

Distorted was that blooming face
Which she had fondly lov'd so long,
And stifled was that tuneful breath
Which in her praise had sweetly sung :

And sever'd was that beauteous neck
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd,
And mangled was that beauteous breast
On which her lovesick head repos'd:

And ravish'd was that constant heart
She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see,
But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,
'Yet, yet, (she cried) I follow thee!

'My death, my death alone can show
The pure, the lasting love I bore :
Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.'

The dismal scene was o'er and past,

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name, expir'd.

Though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due ;
For seldom shall she hear a tale

So sad, so tender, yet so true.