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 twines 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,
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 paffion begun; She fmil'd-and I could not but love:
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph fo complete would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire,
It banishes wifdom the while,
And the lip of the nymph we admire,
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
O ye woods! fpread your branches apace,
To your deepest receffes I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace,
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall refound through the grove With the fame fad complaint it begun; How the fmil'd, and I could not but love, Was faithlefs, and I am undone !
YE blooming flowers that adorn our meads!
Ye ftriking images of youth and spring!
Ye charming flowers! how great the pity
That, hapless, ye are doom'd to fade fo foon.
See, in the morn the humble violet
Rears its fweet head above the tufted grass!
The sportive damfel gathers it at night:
It then foon fades, is loft, and feen no more.
The blooming rofe that's gather'd in the morn
By fome fweet, gay, and lovely fhepherdess,
Ere noon it fheds its brilliant attire,
Which disappears while in her lily hand.
There is a flow'r that neither fades nor droops;
Happy those who cultivate and prize it!
Always gay, beautiful, and brilliant,
And is never known to die or wither.
It is neither the violet nor rose,
Nor any flower of our fields or gardens:
It is enclosed in the human heart,
And is there for ever gay and blooming.
YOUTHFUL INNOCENCE.
YE maidens, who, amidst the grafs,
Seek and collect sweet violets;
Ye maidens, who, amidst the grass,
Often dance in the joyous ring:
Sport and fing, ye harmless maidens !
While ye enjoy your youthful bloom,
Come and dance in the joyous ring.
Let us, while youth's gay feafon lasts,
Seek and collect fweet violets:
Let us, while youth's gay season lasts,
Our temples gaily crown with flowers.
Our joy is in the sportive ring.
Sport and fing, ye harmless maidens !
Great joy is in the sportive ring.
Let's crown our temples with gay flowers.
THE MAIDEN OF THE VALE.
THE western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleasing 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 praise he fung.
Far in the winding vale retir'd,
This peerless bud I found;
And shadowing rocks, and woods confpir'd,
To fence her beauties round.
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