TH

HE weftern fky was purpled o'er
With every pleafing ray,

And flocks reviving felt no more
The fultry heat of day;

When from a hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled STREPHON's tongue;
He bleft the scene, he bleft the hour,
While NANCY's praise he fung.

Let fops with fickle falfhood range
The paths of wanton love,

Whilft weeping maids lament their change,

And fadden every grove:

But endless bleffings crown the day

I faw fair Efham's dale:

And every bleffing find its way

To NANCY of the vale,

'Twas

'Twas from Avona's bank, the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams;

And every fhining glance difplay'd
The Naiad of the streams.

Soft as the wild duck's tender young,
That float on Avon's tide;
Bright as the water lily sprung
And glittering near its fide.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom,
Her eye all mild to view;
The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half fo blue.

Her fhape was like the reed, fo fleek,

So taper, ftrait, and fair;

Her dimpled fmile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!

Far in the winding vale retir'd
This peerless bud I found,

And shadowing rocks and woods confpir'd
To fence her beauties round.

That nature in fo lone a dell

Should form a nymph fo sweet! Or fortune to her fecret cell Conduct my wand'ring feet!

Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But fhe would ne'er incline;
Prove to your equals true, the cry'd,
As I will prove to mine.

'Tis STREPHON on the mountain's brow
Has won my right good will;
To him I gave my plighted vow,
With him I'll climb the hill.

Struck with her charms and gentle truth
I clafp'd the constant fair;
To her alone I give my youth,
And vow my future care.

And when this vow fhall faithless prove,
Or I these charms forego,

The ftream that faw our tender love,

That ftream fhall ceafe to flow.

SHENSTONE.

Ο

'ER moorlandsand mountainsrudebarren and bare,

As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young shepherdefs fees my despair,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home:

Yellow fheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were ftrew'd on the floor;

Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feats at her door.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits, and the cull'd me the best,
Whilst thrown off my guard by fome glances fhe caft,
Love flily ftole into my breaft.

I told my foft wifhes, the fweetly replied
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)

I've rich ones rejected and great ones denied,
Yet take me, fond fhepherd, I'm thine.

Her air was fo modeft, her aspect so meek,

So fimple, yet fweet were her charms,

I kifs'd

I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if on the banks, by the ftream,
Reclin❜d on her bofom I fink into sleep,
Her image ftill foftens my dream.

Together we range o'er the flow rifing hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the ftreamlet diftills,
And mark out new themes for my Mufe.
To pomp or proud titles fhe ne'er did afpire,
The damfel's of humble defcent;

The cottager Peace is well known for her fire.
And shepherds have named her-CONTENT.

CUNNINGHAM.

A Paftoral BALLAD, in Four Parts.

I. ABSENCE.

E fhepherds fo chearful and gay,

Whofe flocks never carelessly roam; Should CORY DON's happen to stray,

Oh! call the poor wanderers home.

Allow