Let fops with fickle falshood range

The paths of wanton love,

Whilst weeping maids lament their change,

And sadden 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;

And every shining glance display'd

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 side.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom,

Her eye all mild to view;

The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like the reed, so sleek,

So taper, strait, 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.

That nature in so lone a dell

Should form a nymph so sweet!

Or fortune to her secret cell

Conduct my wand'ring feet.

Gay lordlings sought her for their bride,
But she would ne'er incline;
Prove to your equals true, she cried,
As I will prove to mine.

'Tis Strephon on the mountain's brow
Has won my right good will;

To her 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,

The stream that saw our tender love,

That stream shall cease to flow.

CONTENT.

[CUNNINGHAM.]

O'ER moorlands and mountains rude barren and bare,

As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home: [crown'd, Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had Green rushes were strew'd on the floor; [round, Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly And deck'd the sod seats at her door.

We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits, and she cull'd me the best, [cast,
Whilst thrown off my guard by some glances she
Love slily stole into my breast.

I told my soft wishes, she sweetly replied

(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)

I've rich one's rejected, and great one's denied,
Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine.

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,
So simple, 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 sink into sleep,
Her image still softens my dream.

Together we range o'er the slow rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distills,
And mark out new themes for my Muse.
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The damsel's of humble descent;

The cottager Peace is well known for her sire,

And shepherds have named her-CONTENT.

A PASTORAL BALLAD, IN FOUR PARTS.

[BY SHENSTONE.]

I. ABSENCE.

YE shepherds so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,

Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,

Nor talk of the change that we find;
None once was so watchful as I:

I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is, to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is, to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :

I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.