SONGS, written chiefly between the Year 1737 and 1742.

I

SONG I.

Told my nymph, I told her true,

My fields were finall, my flocks were few; While faultering accents fpoke my fear,

That FLAVIA might not prove fincere.

Of

crops destroy'd by vernal cold, And vagrant sheep that left

my fold: Of these she heard, yet bore to hear; And is not FLAVIA then fincere?

How chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and fhed a generous tear;
And is not FLAVIA then fincere?

How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My FLAVIA must not hope for dress;
This too fhe heard, and fmil'd to hear;
And FLAVIA fure must be fincere.

Go fhear your flocks, ye jovial fwains,

Go

reap the plenty of your plains;
Defpoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my FLAVIA's love fincere.

SONG
SONG II.

II. The LANDSKIP.

OW pleas'd within my native bowers

HOW

Erewhile I pafs'd the day!

Was ever scene fo deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers fo gay?

How fweetly smil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the landskip round!`.
The river gliding down the dale!
The hill with beeches crown'd!

But now, when urg'd by tender woes
I fpeed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career,

No more, fince DAPHNE was my theme,
Their wonted charms I fee:

That verdant hill, and filver ftream,

Divide my love and me.

SONG

YEge

SONG III.

gentle nymphs and generous dames, That rule o'er every British mind; ye foothe their amorous flames, Be fure your laws are not unkind.

Be fure

For hard it is to wear their bloom
In unremitting fighs away:

To mourn the night's oppreffive gloom,
And faintly bless the rising day.

And cruel 'twere a free-born fwain,
A British youth fhould vainly moan;
Who fcornful of a tyrant's chain,

Submits to yours, and yours alone.

Nor pointed fpear, nor links of steel,
Could e'er those gallant minds fubdue,
Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,
And boast the fetters wrought by you.

SONG IV. The SKY-LARK,

G%

O, tuneful bird, that glad'ft the skies,
TO DAPHNE'S window speed thy way;
And there on quiv'ring pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.

And if the deign thy notes to hear,
And if the praife thy matin fong,
Tell her the founds that foothe her ear,
TO DAMON's native plains belong,

Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,

The bird from Indian groves may shine;

But afk the lovely partial maid,

What are his notes compar'd to thine?

Then bid her treat yon witlefs beau,

And all his flaunting race with fcorn;

And lend an ear to DAMON's woe,

Who fings her praise, and fings forlorn,

SONG

SONG V.

Ab! ego non aliter triftes evincere morbos
Optarem, quam te fic quoque velle putem.

O

N every tree, in every plain,

I trace the jovial spring in vain!
A fickly languor veils mine eyes,
And faft my waning vigor flies,

Nor flow'ry plain, nor budding tree,
That fimile on others, fmile on me;
Mine eyes from death fhall court repofe,
Nor fhed a tear before they close,

What bliss to me can seasons bring?
Or, what the needlefs pride of spring?
The cyprefs bough, that fuits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.

'Tis true, my vine fo fresh and fair,
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural ftore fome pleasure yield;
So white a flock, fo green a field!