feast.

My Mother.

The Butterfly's Ball. Roscoe. COME take up your hats, and away let us haste To the Butterfly's ball, and the Grasshopper's [crew, The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon'd the And the revels are now only waiting for you. So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions came forth in a throng. And on the smooth grass, by the side of a wood,

Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood, Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air,

For an evening's amusernent together repair. And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black, [back. Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too, [blue. With all their relations, green, orange, and And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down, brown; And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and

Then close on his haunches, so solemn and
wise,
[skies.
The Frog from a corner look'd up to the
And the Squirrel, well plcas'd such diversions
[from a tree.
Mounted high over head, and look'd down
Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,
To shew his dexterity on the tight line.
From one branch to another, his cobwebs he
slung,

Then quick as an arrow he darted along.
But just in the middle,-Oh! shocking to

tell,

[fell. From his rope, in an instant, poor harlequin Yet he touch'd not the ground, but with talons Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. outspread, Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring, [his wing; Very long was his leg, though but short was He took but three leaps, and was soon out of the night. Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of With step so majestic the Snail did advance, And promis'd the gazers a minuet to dance. But they all laugh'd so loud that he pull'd in his head,

sight,

And went in his own little chamber to bed. Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night, with a light. Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out Then home let us hasten, while yet we can [me. For no Watchman is waiting for you and for So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions return'd in a throng.

see,

§ 1. Song. LORD LYTTELTON. SAY, Mira, why is gentle Love

A stranger to that mind, Which pity and esteem can move, Which can be just and kind?

Is it because you fear to share
The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt, the tender care,
That rack the am'rous breast?

IF in that breast, so good, so pure,
Compassion ever lov'd to dwell,

Pity the sorrows I endure,

The cause I must not, dare not tell.

That grief that on my quiet preys,

Then, if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchmen or by wind;
Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring thein twice a day,
With a fa, &c.

The king, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tide will higher rise,
Then e'er it did of old:

But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of tears to Whitehall stairs,
With a fa, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story;

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree:
For what resistance can they find
From men who've left their hearts behind?
With a fa, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst;

Be you to us but kind,

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:

'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe,
With a fa, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;
Or else at serious ombre play;

But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you,
With a fa, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow, And cast our hopes away;

I fear will last me all my days, But feel it will not last me long.

§4. Song. EARL of DORSET*.

To all you ladies now at land

We men at sea indite ;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write;

The Muses now, and Neptune too,
We must implore, to write to you,
With a fa la, la, la, la, la.

For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind
To wave the azure main,

Sit careless at a play:

Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan,
With a fa, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in ev'ry note;
As if it sigh'd with each man's care
For being so remote:

Think then how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were play'd,
With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse
To think of our distress,
When we for hopes of honor lose
Our certain happiness;
All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love,
With a fa, &c.

And now we've told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears;
Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea,
With a fa, &c.

$5. Song. LORD LANSDOWNE. WHY, cruel creature, why so bent To vex a tender heart? To gold and title you relent;

Love throws in vain his dart.

Let glittering fops in court be great,
For pay let armies move:
Beauty should have no other bait
But gentle vows and love.

If on those endless charms you lay
The value that's their due;
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
A thousand worlds too few.

But if a passion without vice,
Without disguise or art,
Ah, Celia! if true love's your price,
Behold it in my heart.

$6. Song. SIR CAR SCROOPE.. ONE night, when all the village slept, Myrtillo's sad despair

The wretched shepherd waking kept,
To tell the woods his care:

“Begone," said he, "fond thoughts, begone!
Eyes, give your sorrows o'er!
Why should you waste your tears for one
Who thinks on you no more?
"Yet, O ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs

That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many tender hours
We here have pass'd in love!
Yon stars above (my cruel foes)

Have heard how she has sworn,
A thousand times, that, like to those,
Her flame should ever burn!

"But since she's lost, O let me have
My wish, and quickly die!
In this cold bank I'll make a grave,
And there for ever lie:

Sad nightingales the watch shall keep,
And kindly here complain."
Then down the shepherd lay to sleep,
But never rose again.

§7. A Pastoral Elegy. AH, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu ! By love and first nature allied, Together in fondness we grew;

Åh, would we together had died!

For thy faith, which resembled my own,
For thy soul, which was spotless and true,
For the joys we together have known,
Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu !
What bliss can hereafter be mine?
Whomever engaging I see,

To his friendship I ne'er can incline,

For fear I should mourn him like thee. Though the muses should crown me with art, Though honor and fortune should join; Since thou art denied to my heart,

What bliss can hereafter be mine?
Ah Damon, dear shepherd, farewell!
Thy grave with sad osiers I'll bind;
Though no more in one cottage we dwell,
I can keep thee for ever in mind.
Each morning I'll visit alone

His ashes who lov'd me so well,
And murmur each eve o'er his stone,
"Ah Damon, dear shepherd, farewell!"

§ 8. Song. MOORE.

HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb!
Come, Lucy, it cries, come away!
The grave of my Colin has room

To rest thee beside his cold clay.
I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu !
I haste to my Colin's dark home,
To die on his bosom so true.

All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, sad Lucy, arose ;
And forth to the green turf she sprung,
Where Colin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground;
While stormy winds over her blew,

And night-ravens croak'd all around.
How long, my lov'd Colin, she cried,
How long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide?
How long ere it join us again?
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd,

With thee o'er the world would she fly; For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,

For thee would she lie down and die.

Alas! what avails it how dear

Thy, Lucy was once to her swain ! Her face like the lily so fair,

And eyes that gave light to the plain! The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,

That face and those eyes charm no more; And Lucy, forgot and alone,

To death shall her Colin deplore.

While thus she lay sunk in despair,

And mourn'd to the echoes around, Inflam'd all at once grew the air, And thunder shook dreadful the ground! I hear the kind call, and obey,

O Colin, receive me, she cried:

Then breathing a groan o'er his clay, She hung on his tomb-stone, and died.

$9. Song. GAY.

'TWAS 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!
The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and di'monds grow,
You'll find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

A stream so clear as Rocnabad, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.

O! when these fair, perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display,
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest,
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow:
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks where living roses blow,
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art?

Speak not of fate:-ah! change the theme,
And talk of odors, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom:
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream!
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.

Beauty has such resistless power,
That e'en the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!

But ah! sweet maid, my counsel hear:
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage :)
While music charms the ravish'd ear;
While sparkling cups delight our ear;
Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age.

What cruel answer have I heard!
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still :
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?

Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless case,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far swecter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.

§ 11. Song.

HARD by the hall, our master's house,
Where Mersey flows to meet the main;
Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose
A lover to complain;

With arms across, along the strand
Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head;
Viewing the footsteps in the sand,
Which a bright nymph had made.

The tide, said 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 some savage beast of prey,

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

Or meets me with a frown?

That bosom 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 Lover's Leap indeed,
And plung'd into the sounding deep,
Where hungry fishes feed.

The melancholy hern stalks by;
Around the squalling sea-gulis yell;
Aloft the croaking ravens fly,

And toll his funeral bell.

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

§12. Song. Jemmy Dawson*. SHENSTONE.

COME listen to my mournful tale,

Ye tender hearts and lovers dear; Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, Nor will you blush to shed a tear. And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid! Do thou a pensive ear incline; For thou canst weep at every woe, And pity every plaint but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth,

A brighter never trod the plain; And well he lov'd one charming maid, And dearly was he lov'd again. One tender maid she lov'd him dear, Of gentle blood the damsel came: And faultless was her beauteous form, And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife, That led the favor'd youth astray! The day the rebel clans appear'd,

O had he never seen that day!

Their colors and their sash he wore,

And in that fatal dress was found; And now he must that death endure Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek, When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, or yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice she weeping said:

"O Dawson, monarch of my heart, Think not thy death shall end our loves, For thou and I will never part.

"Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
O George! without a pray'r for thee
My orisons should never close.

"The gracious prince that gave him life
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
"But tho', dear youth, thou shouldst be dragg'd
To yonder ignominious tree;
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend
To share thy bitter fate with thee."
O then her mourning-coach was call'd,
The sledge mov'd slowly on before;
Though borne in his triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her favorite more.

She follow'd him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and steadfast eye she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly lov'd so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung:
And severed was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was the beauteous breast

On which her love-sick head repos'd; And ravish'd was that constant heart,

She did to every heart prefer; For, though it could its king forget, "Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, "Now, now," she cried, "I follow thee!