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He repeats the fong of COLLIN, a discerning

shepherd ; lamenting the state of the woollen manufactury

Ergo omni fudio, glaciem ventosque nivales,
Quo minus eft illis curæ mortalis egestas,
Avertes : victumque feres.



EAR Avon's bank, on Arden's flow'ry plain,

A * tuneful shepherd charm’d the liftning wave; And funny COTSOL' fondly lov'd the strain ;

Yet not a garland crowns the shepherd's grave!

Oh loft OPHELIA ! smoothly flow'd the day,

To feel his music with my fames agree ! To taste the beauties of his melting lay,

To taste, and fancy it was dear to thee

When, for his tomb, with each revolving year,

I steal the musk-rose from the scented brake, I strew my cowslips, and I pay my tear,

I'll add the myrtle for OPHELIA's fake.

Shiv'ring beneath a leaflefs thorn he lay,

When death's chill rigour seiz’d his flowing tongue;
The more I found his fault'ring notes decay,
The more prophetic truth fublim'd the fong.

" Adieu * Mr. SOMERVILLE,

“ Adieu my flocks, he faid! my wonted care, ? : '1. rin

By funny, mountain, or by verdand shore! May some more happy hand your fold prepare,

And may you need your COLLIN?s crook-no-more.

And you, ye fhepherds ! lead my gentle theep;

To breezy hills, or leafy shelters lead; But if the sky with show'rs inceffant weep;

.: 915177 Avoid the patrid moisture of the mead.

Where the wild thyme perfumes the perpled heath, 11"!

Long-loit’ring there your fleecy tribes exténdU But what avail the maxims i bequeath. Lo

The fruitless gift of an officious friend! :

Ah! what avails the tim'rous lambs to guard,

Tho' nightly cares, with daily labours, join? If foreign Aoth obtain the rich reward,

If GALLIA's craft the pond'rous fleece purloin! 'T

Was it for this, by constant vigils worn,

I met the terrors of an early grave?
For this, I led them from the pointed thorn?

For this I bath'd 'em in the lucid wave ?

Ah heedlefs ALBION ! too benignly prone

Thy blood to lavish, and thy wealth resign! Shall ev'ry other virtue grace thy throne, i

But quick-ey'd prudence never yet be thine?


From the fair natives of this peerless hill

Thou gav't the sheep that browze Iberian plains & Their plaintive cries the faithless region fill,

Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains.

Ill-fated flocks ! from cliff to cliff they ftray.;.

Far from their dams their native guardians far! Where the soft shepherd, all the livelong day,

Chaunts his proud mitress to his hoarse guittar.

But ALBION's youth her native fleece despise ;

Unmoy'd they hear the pining thepherd's moans In filky folds each nervous limb disguise,

Allur'd by ev'ry treasure, but their own.

Oft have I hurry'd down the rocky fteep,

Anxious, to see the wintry tempest drive; Preserve, said I, preserve your fleece, my Sheep!

Ere long will Phillis, will my love arrive.

Ere long she came : ah! woe is me, she came!

Rob'd in the Gallic loom's extraneous twine : For gifts like these they give their spotless fame,

Resign their bloom, their innocence resign.

Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles knownt,

Give the rich growth of British hills to fame ? And let her charms, and her example, own

That virtue's dress, and beauty's are the fame?

Will no fam'd chief fupport this gen'rous maid :

Once more the patriot's arduous path resame? And, cômely from his native plains array'd,

Speak future glory to the British loom?

What pow'r unseen my ravish'd fancy fires ?

1 I pierce the dreary shade of future days; Sure 'tis the genius of the land inspires,

To breathe my latest breath in *** praife. 13 VIA.

O might'my breath for *** praise fuffice,

1. i 25 How gently shou'd my dying limbs repose!"...poca O might his future glory bless mine eyes,

My ravishd'eyes ! how calmly wou'd they close!

was born to spread the gen'Fat joy;

1941 By virtue rapt, by party uncontroul'd; '. 'n i BRITONS for BRITAIN shall the crook employ; ,

Britons for BRITAIN's glory shear the fold.". +


.. Written in spring 1743.
GAIN the lab’ring hind inverts the soil;

Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave;
Another spring renews the soldier's toil,
And finds me vacant in the rural cave.



As the soft lyre difplay'd my wonted lovesy

The pensive pleasure and the tender pain,
The fordid ALPHEUs :hurry'd thro' my grovesi,

Yet flop'd to vent the didates-of disdain.

He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold;

He blam'd the graces of my fav'rite bow'r; My breaft, unfully'd by the luft of gold;

My time, unlavilh'd in pursuit of pow'r.

Yes, ALPHEUS! Aly the purer paths of fate;.

A bjure these scenes from venal passions free; Know, in this grove, I vow'd perpetual hate,

War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.

Here nobly zealons, in my youthful hours,

I dreft an altar to THALIA's name:
Here as I crown'd the verdant Ihrine with flow'rs;

Soft'on my labouts ftole the smiling damea

Damon, she cry'd, if pleas'd with honest praise,

Thou court success by virtue or by fong, Fly the fälle dictates of the venal race;

Fly the gross accents of the menal topgue.

Swear that no lucre fhalf thy żeal betray ;

Swerve not thy foot with fortune's vot’ries more ; Brand thou their lives, and brand their lifeless dayThe winning phantom urg'd me, and 'I swore.


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