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S A N G. HD
ID from himself, now by the dawn
He starts as fresh as roses blawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
Like courtly weathercocks.
Unsully'd with a crime:
Contented spends his time.
S À N G.
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
When Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom, Alake, poor me! will now conspire,
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom. No more the shepherd who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made thein to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows where we often stray'd,
Ye bauks where we were wont to wander; Sweet scented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder.
Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the know with silent duty,
And wonder at thy manly beauty ?
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wandering lover,
Nor be a wife to any other.
S A N G.
THEN hope was quite sunk in despair,
My heart it was going to break;
But now I will sav't for thy sake.
Wherever he lodges by night,
And iný soul keep him ever in siglat.
And study the gentlest charms;
To lock thee for ay in these arms.
No higher degree in this life;
To a height that's becoming thy wife.
Must fade like the gowans in May,
For ever, without a decay.
Can quench the fair fire of love,
And the husband ha'e sense' to approve.
S A N G.
Wi' soul that still shall love thee,
Wi' a' that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush,
Where first thou kindly tald me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
Whilst round thou didst enfald me. To a' our haunts I will repair,
By greenwood shaw or fountain;
Wi' thee upon yon mountain.
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
A heart which cannot wander.
S A N G. THE HE bonny grey.ey'd morning begins to peep;
And darkness flies before the rising ray, The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day, Without guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
The lark and the linnet 'tend his levee, And he joins their concert, driving the plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free.
Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain.
Plac'd at a due distance from parties and state, Where neither ambition por avarice blind, Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.
An Ode for Music.
heavenly maid, was young
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
L'en at the sound himself bad made.
In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Low sullen sounds, his grief beguild;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
What was thy delighted measure ?
And hade the lovely scenes at distance hail;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smild, and wav'd her golden
hair. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose,
And, with a withering look,
And ever and anon he beat
Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien; While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from
his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,
Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving callid on
Hate. With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sat retir'd, And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul :
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Tbro' glades and glooms the mingled measures stole Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.