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Amidst a thousand kind desires,
Which Beauty moves, and Love inspires,
Such
pangs

I feel of tender fear,
No heart so soft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms;

Such are your charms,
"Tis worth a life to die within your arms.

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O To hills and dates my passion tell;

A flame which time can never quell,

That burns for lovely Peggy.
Yet greater bards the lyre should hit;
For pray what subject is more fit,
Than to record the facred wit,

And bloom of lovely Peggy.

The sun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-bespangled thorn,
Does not so much the day adorn

As does my lovely Peggy.
And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy West,
He's not so beauteous as, undress’d,

Appears my lovely Peggy.

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Were the array'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon my oaten reed,

To please my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All pleases when she's in my fight;
But when she's gone 'tis endless night,

All's dark without my Peggy.

When Zephyr on the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not half the sweets disclose,

That does my lovely Peggy.
I stole a kiss the other day,
And, trust me, nought but truth I say,
The fragrant breath of blooming May

Was not so sweet as Peggy.

While bees from flow'r to flow'r do rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or stately swans the waters love,

So long shall I love Peggy.
And when death, with his pointed dart,
Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,
My words shall be, when I depart,

Adieu, my lovely Peggy.

SONG

S O N G XXV.

MAY-EVE: OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN.

BY MR. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

T ,

HE silver moons enamour'd beam,

Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go balmy sleep,

('Tis where you've seldom been)
Mays vigil while the shepherds keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,

In rosy chaplets gay,
"Till morn unbar her golden gate,

And give the promis'd May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half fo fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike

up

the tabors boldeft notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove ;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And hail the maid I love :
And fee—the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

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Now lightsome o'er the level mead,

Where midnight Fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love :
For see the rofy May draws nigh ;

She claims a virgin Queen ;
And hark, the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen !

SON G XXVI.

NANCY

OF THE V AL E.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE ESQ.

HE western sky was purpled o'er

With every ray: And flocks reviving felt no more

The sultry heats of day:

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Let fops with fickle falsehood range

The paths of wanton love,
While weeping maids lament their change,

And fadden every grove:

But

But endless blessings crown the day

I saw fair Elhams dale !
And every blessing find its way

To Nancy of the Vale.

'Twas from Avonas banks the maid

Diffus'd her lovely beams,
And every shining glance display'd

The naiad of the streams.

Soft as the wild-ducks tender

young, That float on Avons 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 halcyons azure plume

Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like the reed, so fleek,

So taper, straight, and fair ;
Her dimpled smile, 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 conspir'd

To fence her beauties round.

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