Faft by, a Naïd taught her ftream to glide, The whifp'ring fedges way'd along the shore. Here oft, when Morn peep'd o'er the dufky hill; And pour'd in strains like these his artlefs tale. Ah! would he fay-and then a figh would heave : Of thee bereft how fhall I live forlorn? Ah! what avails this sweetly folemn bow'r That filent ftream where dimpling eddies play; Yon thymy bank bedeck'd with many a flow'r, Where maple-tufts exclude the beam of day. Robb'd of my love, for how can these delight, Dims the fad eye and deadens every taste. As As droops the lilly at the blighting gale; Or * crimson-spotted cowflip of the mead, Whose tender ftalk (alas! their stalk fo frail) Some hafty foot hath bruis'd with heedless tread : As droops the woodbine, when some village hind But trails its fading beauties on the ground: So droops my foul, dear maid, downcaft and fad, Bereft of each sweet hope, which once it had, Return bleft days, return ye laughing hours, Ye know, the curling breeze, or gilded fly Was not fo free, was not fo gay as I, For ah! I knew not then or love, or care. On her left breaft A mole cinque-Spotted: like the crimson drops Shakespear's Cymbeline, Act 3. Witness Witness ye winged daughters of the year, 'Till Cynthia came and rob'd my foul of rest! O have you feen, bath'd in the morning dew, The budding rofe its infant bloom display; When first its virgin tints unfold to view, It fhrinks and scarcely trufts the blaze of day. So foft, fo delicate, fo fweet fhe came, Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek: I gaz'd, I figh'd, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with paffion, weak, Yet not unpitied was my pain the while; For oft befide yon sweet-briar in the dale, With many a blufh, with many a melting fmile, She fate and liften'd to the plaintive tale. Ah me! I fondly dreamt of pleasures rare, What tho' no treasures canker in my chest, Nor crowds of fuppliant vaffals hail me lord! What tho' my roof can boaft no princely gueft, Nor furfeits lurk beneath my frugal board! Yet 1 Yet fhould Content, that shuns the gilded bed, With fmiling Peace, and Virtue there forgot, Led by chafte Love, the decent band should come, The wood-land nymphs, and gentle fays, at eve Come then bright maid, and quit the city throng, She proud, alas! derides my lowly fong, Then Love begone, thy thriftlefs empire yield, In youthful toils I'll lofe the unmanly pain: With echoing horns I'll roufe the jocund field, Urge the keen chace, and sweep along the plain. Or all in fome lone mofs-grown tow'r fublime And heal with Wifdom's balm my hapless wound. OF Or elfe I'll roam. -Ah no! that figh profound, Tells me that stubborn love disdains to yield; Nor flight, nor Wifdom's balm can heal the wound, Nor pain forfake me in the jocund field. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX DIALOGUE to CHLORINDA $. By Mr. ALSO P. EASE, Chlorinda, cease to chide me, Why fhou'd kindness be denied me? If the fruit of all my wishes Muft be, to be treated fo; C. Simple Strephon, ceafe complaining, Think not e'er my heart to reign in, Did I take delight to fetter Thrice ten thousand flaves a day, Thrice ten thousand times your betters Gladly would my rule obey. Striev |