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While thus the lay funk in despair,

And mourn’d to the echos around, Inflam'd all at once grew the air,

And thunder Mook dreadful the ground. I hear the kind call, and obey,

Oh, Collin, receive me, she cried! Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,

She hung on his tomb-stone and died.

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'T

WAS when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind;
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin’d.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wistful look;
Her head was crown'd with willows

That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone

and

over, And nine long tedious days. Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest :
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within

my

breast ?

* In The What D'ye call it,

The

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SONG LXVI.

THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESO

ALE

!

LEXIS shunn'd his fellow fwains,

Their rural sports, and jocund strains:
(Heav'n guard us all from Cupids bow!)
He lost his crook, he left his flocks;
And wand'ring through the lonely rocks,

He nourish'd endless woe.

The nymphs and shepherds round him came:
His grief some pity, others blame;

The fatal cause all kindly seek :
He mingled his concern with theirs ;
He
gave

'em back their friendly tears ;
He sigh’d, but would not speak.

Clorinda came among the rest ;
And she too kind concern express’d,

And ask'd the reason of his woe:
She ak’d, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head;
And will you pardon me, he said,

While I the cruel truth reveal ?
Which nothing from my breast should tear :
Which never should offend your ear,

But that you bid me tell.

'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, Since you appear'd upon the plain ;

You are the cause of all my care : Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart : Ten thousand torments vex my heart:

I love, and I despair.

Too much, Alexis, I have heard :
'Tis what I thought; tis what I fear'd:

And yet I pardon you, she cried :
But you shall promise ne'er again
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain :

He bow'd, obey'd, and died.

SONG LXVII.

H

ARD by the hall, our masters house,

Where Mersey flows to meet the main ; Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose

A lover to complain.

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With arms across ; along the strand,

Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head; Viewing the footsteps in the fand,

Which a bright nymph had made.

The

The tide, says he, will soon erase

The marks so lightly here imprest;
But time or tide will ne'er deface

Her image in my breast.

Am I fome favage beast of prey ?

Am I some horrid monster grown?
That thus she flies so swift

away,
Or meets me with a frown.

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That bofom soft, that lily skin

(Trust not the fairest outside show) Contains a marble heart within,

A rock hid under snow.

Ah me! the flints and pebbles wound

Her tender feet, from whence there fell
Those crimson drops, which stain the ground,

And beautify each shell.

Ah! fair one, moderate thy flight,

I will no more in vain pursue ;
But take my leave for a long night;

Adieu, lov'd maid, adieu !

With that, he took a running leap,

He took a lovers leap indeed,
And plung'd into the founding deep,

Where hungry fishes feed.

The

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