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HE western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleasing ray, And flocks reviving felt no more
The sultry heat of day;
When from a hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled STREPHON's tongue; He bleft the scene, he blest the hour,
While NANCY's praise he sung.
Let fops with fickle falthood range
The paths of wanton love,
And fadden every grove :
But endless blessings crown the day
I saw fair Esham's dale : And every blessing find its way
To Nancy of the vale,
'Twas from Avona's bank, the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams;
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,
all mild to view ;
Was never half so blue.
Her shape was like the reed, so fleek,
So taper, strait, and fair ;
How charming sweet they were !
Far in the winding vale retir'd
This peerless bud I found,
That nature in so lone a dell
Should form a nymph fo sweet! Or fortune to her secret cell
Conduct my wand'ring feet !
Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But she would ne'er incline;
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 clasp’d the constant fair ; To her alone I give my youth,
And vow my future care.
And when this vow shall faithless prove,
Or I these charms forego,
That stream shall cease to flow.
O'ER moorlandsand mountainsrudebarren and bare,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home :
Green rushes were strew'd on the floor ;
And deck'd the fod feats at her door.
We fat ourselves down to a cooling repaft,
Fresh fruits, and she cull'd me the best,
Love sily stole into my breast.
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)
Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine.
Her air was so modeft, her aspect so meek,
So fimple, yet sweet were her charms,
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 stream, Reclin’d on her bosom I fink into sleep,
Her image still softens my dream.
Together we range o'er the flow rifing hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,
And mark out new themes for my Muse.
The damsel's of humble descent;
And shepherds have named her-Content.
A Pastoral BALLAD, in Four Parts.
E shepherds fo chearful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam ;