NE morning very early, one morning in the spring, a I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did fing, Her chains fhe rattled on her hands while fweetly thus fung fhe, I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh cruel were his parents who fent my love to fea,
And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love from me,
Yet I love his parents fince they're his, altho' they've ruin'd me,
And I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

O fhould it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to the sky,
I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love to fly;
To guard him from all dangers how happy fhould I be !
For I love my love, because I know my
love loves me.

I'll make a ftrawy garland, I'll make it wondrous fine,
With rofes, lilies, daifies, I'll mix the eglantine;
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea,
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh if I were a little bird to build upon his breaft,
Or if I were a nightingale to fing my love to rest !
Το
gaze upon his lovely eyes all my reward fhould be
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh if I were an eagle, to foar into the sky!

;

I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might spy;
But ah! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er fhall fee,
Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

HE fun was funk beneath the hill,

TH

The western clouds were lined with gold,

Clear was the fky, the wind was ftill,

The flocks were penn'd within the fold;

When

When in the filence of the grove
Poor DAMON thus defpair'd of love.

Who feeks to pluck the fragrant rofe
From the hard rock or oozy beach,
Who from each weed that barren grows,
Expects the grape or downy peach,

With equal faith may hope to find
The truth of love in womankind.

No herds have I, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain,
No pastures green, or gardens fair,
A woman's venal heart to gain;
Then all in vain my fighs must prove
Whofe whole eftate, alas! is love.

How wretched is the faithful youth
Since womens hearts are bought and fold:
They afk no vows of facred truth,

Whene'er they figh, they figh for gold.
Gold can the frowns of fcorn remove?
But I am fcorn'd-who have but love.

Το

To buy the gems of India's coaft

What wealth, what riches would fuffice? Yet India's fhore should never boast

The luftre of thy rival eyes;

For there the world too cheap must prøve;
Can I then buy?-who have but love.

Then, MARY, fince nor gems nor ore
Can with thy brighter felf compare,
Be juft, as fair, and value more

Than gems or ore, a heart fincere :
Let treasure meaner beauties move;
Who pays thy worth, must pay in love.

HAT beauties does Flora difclofe?

WE
WHow feet are her fimiles upon Tweed?

But MARY'S ftill fweeter than those
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daify nor fweet blushing rofe

Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those
Such beauty and pleasure can yield.

The

The warblers are heard in each grove, The linnet, the lark and the thrush; The blackbird and fweet cooing dove With mufic enchant every bush. Come let us go forth to the mead,

Let us fee how the primroses fpring; We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks fing.

How does my love pass the long day?
Does MARY not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly ftray,

While happily fhe lies asleep?

Tweed's murmurs fhould lull her to reft,
Kind nature indulging my blifs,
To relieve the foft pains of my breaft
I'd fteal an ambrofial kifs.

"Tis fhe does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her can compare, Love's graces all round her do dwell,

She's faireft where thousands are fair. Say charmer where do thy flocks stray? Oh! tell me at noon where they feed: Shall I feek them on fweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed.