My Orra Moor, where art thou laid ?
What wood conceals my fleeping maid?
Fast by the roots enrag'd I'd tear
The trees that hide my promis'd fair.

Oh! could I ride on clouds and skies,
Or on the ravens pinions rise!

Ye ftorks, ye swans, a moment stay,
And waft a lover on his way !

My blifs too long my bride denies,
Apace the wafting fummer flies:
Nor yet the wintry blafts I fear,

Not ftorms or night fhall keep me here.

What may for ftrength with fteel compare?
Oh! Love has fetters ftronger far:
By bolts of steel are limbs confin'd,
But cruel Love enchains the mind.

No longer then perplex thy breast,
When thoughts torment, the first are best;
'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay,
Away to Orra, hafte away!

SONG

SONG XLIII.

THE MIDSUMMER

BY DR. CROXAL L*.

WA

WISH.

AFT me, fome soft and cooling breeze,
To Windfors fhady kind retreat;

Where fylvan scenes, wide spreading trees,
Repel the dog-ftars raging heat:

Where tufted grass, and moffy beds,
Afford a rural calm repose;

Where woodbines hang their dewy heads,
And fragrant fweets around difclofe.

Old oozy Thames, that flows faft by,
Along the fmiling valley plays;
His glaffy furface chears the eye,

And through the flowery meadow ftrays.

His fertile banks, with herbage green,
His vales with golden plenty fwell;
Wheree'er his purer ftreams are seen,

The gods of health and pleasure dwell.

Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave,
With naked arm once more divide;

In thee my glowing bofom lave,

And ftem thy gently-rolling tide.

*Written when the author was at Eton school."

Lay

Lay me, with damask-roses crown'd,
Beneath fome ofiers dusky fhade;
Where water-lilies deck the ground,

Where bubbling springs refresh the glade.

Let dear Lucinda too be there,

With azure mantle slightly dreft; Ye nymphs, bind up her flowing hair, Ye Zephyrs, fan her panting breast.

O hafte away, fair maid, and bring
The mufe, the kindly friend to love,
To thee alone the mufe fhall fing,
And warble through the vocal grove.

SONG XLIV.

BY DR. PERCY.

Nancy, wilt thou

Nancy, wilt thou go with me,

Nor figh to leave the flaunting town?

Can filent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and ruffet gown?

No longer dreft in filken fheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare, Say can't thou quit each courtly scene, Where thou wert faireft of the fair?

O Nancy! when thou'rt far away,
Wilt thou not caft a look behind?
Say canft thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?

O can

O can that soft and gentle mien
Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor fad regret each courtly scene,

Where thou wert faireft of the fair?

O Nancy! canft thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go,
Or when thy fwain mishap shall rue,
To fhare with him the pang of woe?
Say, fhould disease or pain befall,
Wilt thou affume the nurses care,
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
Where thou wert faireft of the fair?

And when at laft thy love fhall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou reprefs each struggling figh,
And chear with fmiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathlefs clay
Strew flowers and drop the tender tear;
Nor then regret those scenes fo gay,
Where thou wert faireft of the fair?

SONG XLV.

BY MISS

COM

WHATE LE Y.

OME dear Paftora, come away!
And hail the chearful spring;

Now fragrant bloffoms crown the May,

And woods with love-notes ring:

Now

Now Phoebus to the Weft defcends,

And sheds a fainter ray;

And as our rural labour ends,
We blefs the clofing day.

In yonder artless maple bower,
With blooming woodbines twin'd;
Let us enjoy the evening hour,

On earths foft lap reclin'd:
Or where yon poplars verdant boughs
The crystal current shade;

O deign, fair nymph, to hear the vows
My faithful heart has made.

Within this breast no foft deceit,

No artful flattery bides:
But truth, fcarce known among

O'er every thought prefides:

the

great,

On prides falfe glare I look with scorn,

And all its glittering train;

Be mine the pleasures which adorn
This ever-peaceful plain.

Come then, my fair, and with thy love

Each rifing care fubdue ;

Thy prefence can each grief remove,

And every joy renew:

The lily fades, the rofe grows faint,
Their tranfient bloom is vain;

But lafting truth and virtue paint
Paftora of the plain.

SONG