The tide, fays he, will foon erafe
The marks fo lightly here impreft;
But time or tide will ne'er deface
Her image in my breast.

Am I fome favage beaft of prey?
Am I fome horrid monfter grown?
That thus fhe flies fo fwift away,
Or meets me with a frown.

That bofom foft, that lily skin
(Truft not the fairest outside show)
Contains a marble heart within,

A rock hid under fnow.

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

The melancholy hern stalks by;
Around the fqualling fea-gulls yell;
Aloft the croaking ravens fly,

And toll his funeral bell.

The waters roll above his head,
The billows tofs it o'er and o'er;
His ivory bones lie fcattered,
And whiten all the shore.

Ah! have you feen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?

So droop'd this flow-confuming maid,
Her life now near its end.

By

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering fwains
Take heed ye easy fair :

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye flattering fwains beware.

Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, fhrieking thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing:

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found:
And thus, in dying words, befpoke,
The virgins weeping round.

I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
• That cries I must not stay;
I fee a hand, you cannot fee,
That beckons me away.

Of a falfe fwain and broken heart,

In early youth I die:

Am I to blame, because the bride
Is twice as rich as I?

• Ah Colin! give not her thy vows, • Vows due to me alone!

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs,

• Nor think him all thy own.

•To

To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient both prepare:

But know, false man, and know, fond maid,
Poor Lucy will be there.

• Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear, • The bridegroom blithe to meet,

He in his wedding-trim fo gay,

She spoke, fhe died; her corfe was borne

The bridegroom blithe to meet,

He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-fheet.

What then were perjur'd Colins thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept?
The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Compaffion, fhame, remorfe, defpair,

At once his bofom fwell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah bride no more!)

The varying crimson fled,

When, ftretch'd beside her rivals corse,

She faw her lover dead.

He

He to his Lucys new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
In the fame mould, beneath one fod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at this place the conftant hind,
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the facred green.

But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd ground forbear;
Remember Colins dreadful fate,'
And fear to meet him there.

SONG LXIX.

JEM MY

DAWSON*.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE ESQ

HOME listen to my mournful tale,

CON

Ye tender hearts and lovers dear

Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh,

Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

r;

* Captain James Dawson, the amiable and unfortunate fubject of these beautiful ftanzas, was one of the Eight Officers, belonging to the Manchefter Regiment of volunteers in the fervice of The Young Chevalier, who were hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington-common, in 1746. And this ballad, written about the time, is founded on a remarkable circumstance which actually happened at his execution. Juft before his death he wrote a fong on his own misfortunes, which is fuppofed to be still extant, though the editor, after much inquiry, has never had the happiness to meet with it.

VOL. I.

G

And