II.

When larks forsake the flow'ry plain,
And Love's sweet numbers swell,
My pipe shall join their morning strain
In praise of Kitty Fell.

III.

Where woodbines twist their fragrant shade,

And noontide beams repel,

I'll rest me on the tufted mead,

And sing of Kitty Fell.

IV.

When moon-beams dance among the boughs
That lodge sweet Philomel,

I'll pour with her my tuneful vows,
And pant for Kitty Fell.

V.

The pale-fac'd pedant burns his books,

The sage forsakes his cell,

The soldier smooths his martial looks,

And sighs for Kitty Fell.

VI.

Were mine, ye Great! your envy'd lot,

In gilded courts to dwell;

I'd leave them for a lonely cot,

With Love and Kitty Fell.

PHILLIS:

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

1.

I SAID---on the banks by the stream,
I've pip'd for the shepherds too long;
Oh grant me, ye Muses, a theme

Where glory may brighten my song!

But Pan bade me stick to my strain,
Nor lessons too lofty rehearse :
Ambition befits not a swain,

And Phillis loves pastoral verse.

II.

The rose, tho' a beautiful red,

Looks faded to Phillis's bloom;

And the breeze from the bean-flower bed
To her breath's but a feeble perfume.

The dew-drop so limpid and gay,
That loose on the violet lies,
Though brighten'd by Phoebus's ray,
Wants lustre, compar'd to her eyes.

*The Author intended the character of Pan for the late Mr. Shenstone, who favoured him with a letter or two, advising him to proceed in the Pastoral manner.

M

111.

A lily I pluck'd in full pride,

Its freshness with her's to compare, And foolishly thought (till I try'd) The flow'ret was equally fair.

How, Corydon! could you mistake?
Your fault be with sorrow confest;
You said the white swans on the lake
For softness might rival her breast.

IV.

While thus I went on in her praise,
My Phillis pass'd sportive along:
Ye Poets! I covet no bays;

She smil'd---a reward for my song!

I find the God Pan's in the right,
No fame's like the fair one's applause!
And Cupid must crown with delight
The shepherd that sings in his cause.

FANNY OF THE DALE:

I.

LET the declining damask rose

With envious grief look pale;
The summer bloom more freely glows
In Fanny of the Dale.

II.

Is there a sweet that decks the field,
Or scents the morning gale,
Can such a vernal fragrance yield
As Fanny of the Dale?

III.

The painted belles, at court rever'd,
Look lifeless, cold, and stale:

How faint their beauties, when compar'd
With Fanny of the Dale!

IV.

The willows bind Pastora's brows,

Her fond advances fail;

For Damon pays his warmest vows

To Fanny of the Dale.

V.

Might honest Truth at last succeed,
And artless Love prevail,

Thrice happy could he tune his reed
With Fanny of the Dale!

DAPHNE:

A SONG.

I.

No longer, Daphine, I admire

The graces in thine eyes;

Continu'd coyness kills desire,
And famish'd passion dies.

Three tedious years I've sigh'd in vain,
Nor could my vows prevail;
With all the rigours of disdain
You scorn'd my am'rous tale.

II.

When Celia cry'd, "How senseless she "That has such vows refus'd!

"Had Damon giv'n his heart to me

"It had been kinder us'd.

"The man's a fool that pines and dies
"Because a woman's coy:
"The gentle bliss that one denies
"A thousand will enjoy,"

Such charming words, so void of art,

Surprising rapture gave;

And tho' the maid subdu'd my heart,

It ceas'd to be a slave.

A wretch condemn'd, shall Daphne prove, While blest without restraint,

In the sweet calendar of Love

My Celia stands---a saint,