And fever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was that beauteous breast,

On which her love-fick head repos'd;

Amid those unrelenting flames,

She bore this conftant heart to fee; But when 'twas mouldered into duft, Yet, yet, fhe cry'd, I follow thee,

My death, my death alone can fhew

The pure, the lafting love I bore; Accept, O heaven! of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more.

The difmal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearfe retir'd;

The maid drew back her languid head,
And fighing forth his name, expir'd,

Tho' juftice ever must prevail,
The tear my KITTY fheds, is due;
For feldom fhall fhe hear a tale

So fad, fo tender, yet so true,

A Paftoral

A Paftoral BALLAD, in Four Parts.

Written 1743.

Arbufta bumilefque myricæ.

EXPLANATION.

Groves and lowly shrubs.

YE

I. ABSENCE.

E fhepherds fo chearful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelefly roam;
Should CORYDON's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to mufe and to figh,

Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was fo watchful as I;

-I have left my dear PHILLIS behind.

Now I know what it is to have ftrove
With the torture of doubt and defire;
What it is, to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :

-I have bade my dear PHYLLIS farewel.

Since PHYLLIS vouchsaf'd me a look,

I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,

If I knew of a kid that was mine.

M 4

VIRG.

I priz'd

I priz'd every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before;
But now they are past, and I figh;

And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.

But why do I languish in vain ?

Why wander thus penfively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the fmiles of my dear?
They tell me, my favourite maid,

The pride of that valley, is flown;
Alas! where with her I have ftray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.

When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought-but it might not be fo-
'Twas with pain that the faw me depart.
She gaz'd, as I flowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So fweetly the bade me adieu,

I thought that she bade me return.

The pilgrim that journeys all day
To vifit fome far-distant fhrine,

If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,

And my folace wherever I go.

II. HOPE.

Μ'

II. HOPE.

Y banks they are furnish'd with bees, Whofe murmur invites one to fleep; My grottos are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white-over with sheep. I feldom have met with a lofs,

Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all border'd with mofs, Where the hare-bells and violets grow.

Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a fweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how fudden the jeffamine ftrove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
Το prune the wild branches away.

From

From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What ftrains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form fhall appear,
Each bird fhall harmoniously join
In a concert fo foft and fo clear,
As-fhe may not be fond to refign.

I have found out a gift for my fair;

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear,

She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed.

For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,

Who could rob a poor bird of its young: And I lov'd her the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to-a dove:
That it ever attended the bold;

And fhe call'd it the fifter of love.
But her words fuch a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever the fay,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.

Can