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III.

Ev'ry charm, whose high delight

Senfe enjoys, or foul admires;

All that ardour can excite,

All-excited love requires,

All that heav'n or earth call fair,
View CHLOE's face, and read it there.

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S

A PASTORAL SONG.

ANDY, the gay, the blooming fwain,

Had lang frae love been free;

Lang made ilk heart that fill'd the plain

Dance quick with harmless glee.

As blythsome lambs that fcour the green, „do 1951

His mind was unconstrain'd;

Nae face could ever fix his een,

Nae fang his ear detain'd.

Ah!

Ah! luckless youth!. a fhort-liv'd joy
Thy cruel fates decree;

Fell tods shall on thy lambkins préy,

And love mair fell on thee.

ΤΟ

"Twas e'er the fun exhal'd the dew,

Ae morn of chearful May,

Forth GIRZY walk'd, the flow'rs to view,

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A flow'r mair sweet than they!

Like fun-beams fheen her waving locks;

Her een like stars were bright;

The rose lent blushes to her cheek;

The lily pureft white.

Jimp was her wafte, like fome tall pine
That keeps the woods in awe;

Her limbs like iv'ry columns turn'd,

Her breafts like hills of fnaw.

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Her robe around her loofely thrown,

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Gave to the shepherd's een

What fearless innocence would fhow;

The reft was all unseen.

He fix'd his look, he figh'd, he quak'd,

His colour went and came;

Dark grew

his een, his ears refound,

His breast was all on flame.

Nae mair yon glen repeats his fang,

He jokes, and smiles nae mair

Unplaited now his cravat hung,

Undreft his chefnut hair.

To him how lang the shortest night!
How dark the brightest day!

Till, with the flow confuming fire,

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Say, whence you caught that bitter smart,

Which works me fuch decay.

Ay

Ay me! 'twas Love, 'twas GIRZY's charms,

That first began my woes;

Could he fae faft, or fhe fae fair,

Prove fuch relentless foes?

Fierce winter nips the sweetest flower ;

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Sith a' that live, with a' their might,

Some dear delight purfue;

Ceafe, ruthless maid! to fcorn the heart

That only pants for you.

Alas! for griefs, to her unken'd,

What pity can I gain?

And should she ken, yet love refuse,

Could that redress my pain?

G 4

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Come,

Come, death, my wan, my frozen bride,

Ah! close these wearied eyes:

But death the happy still pursues,

Still from the wretched flies.>

Could wealth avail; what wealth is mine

Her high-born mind to bend?

Her's are those wide delightful plains,

And her's the flocks I tend.

What tho', whene'er I tun'd my pipe,
Glad fairies heard the found,

And, clad in freshest April green,

Aft tript the circle round :

Break, landward clown, thy dinfome reed,

And brag thy skill nae mair :

Can aught that gies na GIRZY joy,

Be worth thy lightest care?

Adieu! ye harmless sportive flocks!

Who now your lives shall guard?

Adieu! my

faithful dog, who oft

The pleafing vigil shar'd;

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