'Malice never taught to treasure,
Censure never taught to bear;
Love is all the shepherd's pleasure;
Love is all the damsel's care.

'How can they of humble station
Vainly blame the powers above?
Or accuse the dispensation

Which allows them all to love?

'Love, like air, is widely given;

Power nor Chance can these restrain;

Truest, noblest gifts of Heaven!

Only purest on the plain!

'Peers can no such charms discover,
All in stars and garters dress'd,
As on Sundays does the lover,
With his nosegay on his breast.
'Pinks and roses in profusion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near;
Fops may use the same allusion,
But the shepherd is sincere.

'Hark to yonder milkmaid singing
Cheerly o'er the brimming pail;
Cowslips, all around her springing,
Sweetly paint the golden vale.

'Never yet did courtly maiden
Move so spritely, look so fair;
Never breast, with jewels laden,
Pour a song so void of care.

'Would indulgent Heaven had granted Me some rural damsel's part!

All the empire I had wanted

Then had been my shepherd's heart.

Then with him o'er hills and mountains, Free from fetters, might I rove; Fearless taste the crystal fountains,

Peaceful sleep beneath the grove.

'Rustics had been more forgiving,

Partial to my virgin bloom;
None had envied me when living,
None had triumph'd o'er my tomb.'

SHENSTONE.

JEMMY DAWSON.

A Ballad.

WRITTEN ABOUT THE TIME OF HIS EXECUTION,
IN THE YEAR 1745.

COME listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear!
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor need 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 boy,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he loved one charming maid,
And dearly was he loved again.

One tender maid, she loved 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 favour'd youth astray,
The day the rebel clans appear'd;

O, had he never seen that day!
Their colours and their sash he wore,
And in the 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 prayer 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 though he should be dragg'd in scorn To yonder ignominious tree,

He shall not want one constant friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.'

O! then her mourning coach was call'd;
The sledge moved slowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,

She had not loved her favourite more.

She follow'd him, prepared 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 loved so long,
And stifled was that tuneful breath
Which in her praise had sweetly sung :
And sever'd was that beauteous neck
Round which her arms had fondly closed,
And mangled was that beauteous breast
On which her lovesick head reposed:
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,
'Yet, yet (she cried) I follow thee!
'My death, my death alone can show
The pure, the lasting love I bore:
Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.'
The dismal scene was o'er and pass'd,
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expired.
Though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due;
For seldom shall she hear a tale

So sad, so tender, yet so true.

SHENSTONE.

THE SORCERESS;

OR,

Wolfwold and Alla.

Prisca fides. Virg.

'Он, low he lies; his cold pale cheek Lies lifeless on the clay;

Yet struggling hope-O dayspring, break, And lead me on my way.

'On Denmark's cruel bands, O Heaven!
Thy red-wing'd vengeance pour;
Before my Wolfwold's spear be driven-
O rise, bright morning hour!'

Thus Ulla wail'd, the fairest maid
Of all the Saxon race;

Thus Ulla wail'd, in nightly shade,
While tears bedew'd her face.

When sudden, o'er the fir-crown'd hill,
The full orb'd moon arose;
And o'er the winding dale so still
Her silver radiance flows.

No more could Ulla's fearful breast
Her anxious care delay;

But, deep with hope and fear impress'd,
She holds the moonshine way.

She left the bower, and all alone
She traced the dale so still;

And sought the cave with rue o'ergrown,
Beneath the fir-crown'd hill.