TO A FRIEND,

WHO PRESSED THE AUTHOR TO MARRY FOR THE SAKE

OF A GREAT FORTUNE.

In vain, with riches would you try

My steadfast heart to move!
No! I'll give up my liberty

For no less price than Love!

Riches, indeed, may give me power;
But not a cheerful mind!

Whilst joy and peace attend each hour
On those whom Love has joined.

But should the itch of power, or State,
My views, to riches carry;

I'd cringe at Court, in Senate prate:
Do anything but marry!

Since, then, not Wealth's deceitful show
Can tempt me to this chain ;

Try next, what gen'rous Love can do!
All other bribes are vain!

SWAINS! I hate the boist'rous Fair;
Who, bold, assume a manly Air!
Soft, unaffected, gentle, be

Still the Girl that 's made for me!

Let her not boast, like Man, to dare
The dangers of the sylvan war;

With gentler sports delighted be
The Girl that Fate ordains for me!

Nor pert Coquet, nor formal Prude;
Gay let her be, but never rude!

From Airs, from flights, from Vapours, free;
She's the Girl that 's made for me!

Her well-chose dress, in ev'ry part,

Be artful without shewing art;

From all fantastic fashions free,

She's the Girl that's made for me!

Loose flow her locks, without constraint!
Her healthy cheeks, let Nature paint!
To all a Goddess seem to be;
And prove a Woman still to me!

THE HAPPY HUSBAND.

How fresh does the morning appear!
The music, how sweet from the grove!
O, how blessed is the Swain that is clear
From the pains of unsatisfied love!
No slumber these eyes ever knew,
While PHOEBE remained unpossessed!
From friends and companions I flew,
A stranger to friendship and rest.

My sheep, by their Shepherd forsook,
Lay pent in their fold till midday,
Whilst I, by the side of a brook,
Would complain the dull hours away.
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Whose sweetness perfumed the soft air,
A joy to my senses could yield;

Unless the loved PHOEBE was there!

Alas! silly Swain! how I burned!

Sure, Passion like mine ne'er appeared! When absent, her absence I mourned; When present, her absence I feared! But now all this folly is o'er,

Since PHOEBE to me has proved kind; I sigh and I languish no more, But contentment in everything find.

Full joy in her presence I have;

But her absence now breaks not my rest!
For, with her dear person, she gave

Me her heart, to lock up in my breast.
O, how cheerful my flocks now I guide,

At noon where to taste the fresh streams,
Whilst I sing, to the tune of Tweed side,
On the pleasanter banks of the Thames!

INVOCATION TO CLOE.

LET other Bards invoke the tuneful Nine,
Or call APOLLO to their great design;
Whilst I, contented with my happier fate,
A smile from you, to crown my labours wait.

Smile then propitious on my feeble Lays; And make them equal to my CLOE's praise! In that just mean, instruct my verse to flow; Not harshly rough, nor languishingly slow: But graceful easy Numbers let me bring! Graceful and easy as the Nymph I sing!

Then when, with envy, future Bards enquire, What powerful charms, such Numbers could inspire? With pride and pleasure shall I own, that you Who made the Lover, made the Poet too!

AULD ROBIN GREY.

[THE FIRST PART.

THE SECOND PART WAS NOT PRINTED UNTIL 1824.]

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the ky at hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane,

The waes of my heart fa's in showers frae my eye, When my Gudeman lyes sound by me.

Young JEMMY loo'd me well, and he sought me for his Bride;

But saving a crown, he had naething beside! To make that crown a pound, my JEMMY gade to sea; And the crown and the pound were baith for me!

He had nae been awa' a week but only twa,

When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stoun awa';

My father brake his arm, and my JEMMY at the sea, And auld ROBIN GREY came a courting me.

My father coudna work, and my mother coudna spin. I toilèd day and night; but their bread I coudna win ! Auld ROB maintain'd them baith; and, wi' tears in his ee, Said JENNY! for their sakes, O, marry me!'