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Oh ever keep thy native ease,

By no pedantic law confin'd!

For LAURA's voice is form'd to please,
So LAURA'S words be not unkind.

NANCY

NANCY of the VALE.

A BL LA D.

Nerine Galatea! thymo mihi dulcior Hybla!
Candidior cygnis, hedera formofior albâ!

HE western fky was purpled o'er

TH

With every pleafing ray:

And flocks reviving felt no more
The fultry heats of day:

When from an hazle's artless bower

Soft-warbled STREPHON'S tongue;
He bleft the scene, he bleft the hour,
While NANCY's praife he fung.

"Let fops with fickle falfhood range The paths of wanton love,

While weeping maids lament their change,

And fadden every grove :

But endless bleffings crown the day

I faw fair ESHAM'S dale!

And every bleffing find its way

TO NANCY of the Vale.

'Twas

'Twas from AVONA's banks the maid Diffus'd her lovely beams;

And every fhining glance difplay'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, fprung,
And glittering near its fide.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom:
Her eye, all mild to view;
The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half fo blue.

Her fhape was like the reed fo fleek,

So taper, ftrait, and fair;

Her dimpled fmile, her blushing cheek,
How charming fweet they were!

Far in the winding Vale retir'd,

This peerless bud I found;

And fhadowing rocks, and woods confpir'd

To fence her beauties round.

That nature in fo lone a dell

Should form a nymph fo fweet!

Or fortune to her fecret cell

Conduct my wandering feet!

Gay

Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But fhe would ne'er incline:

"Prove to your equals true, fhe cry'd,
As I will prove to mine.

'Tis STREPHON, on the mountain's 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 clafp'd the constant fair;

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

And when this vow fhall faithlefs prove,"
Or I thofe charms forego;

The ftream that faw our tender love,
That stream fhall ceafe to flow."

ODE

ODE to INDOLENCE, 1750.

A

H! why for ever on the wing
Perfists my weary'd foul to roam ?
Why, ever cheated, ftrives to bring
Or pleasure or contentment home?

Thus the poor bird, that draws his name
From paradife's honour'd groves,
Careless fatigues his little frame;
Nor finds the resting place he loves.

Lo! on the rural moffy bed

My limbs with careless eafe reclin'd;
Ah, gentle floth! indulgent fpread
The fame foft bandage o'er my mind.

For why should lingering thought invade,
Yet every worldly profpect cloy?
Lend me, foft floth, thy friendly aid,
And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.

Lov'ft thou yon calm and filent flood,
That never ebbs, that never flows;
Protected by the circling wood

From each tempeftuous wind that blows?

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