How if she deigned my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for dress;
This too she heard, and smil'd to hear;
And Flavia sure must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains,
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.

THE LANDSCAPE.

WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

How pleas'd within my native bowers
Ere while I pass'd the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers so gay?

How sweetly smil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the landscape round!
The river gliding down the dale!
The hill with beeches crown'd!

But now, when urg'd by tender woes,
I speed to meet my dear,

That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.

No more, since Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I see:

That verdant hill and silver stream,
Divide my love and me.

THE LOVELY DELIA SMILES AGAIN,

WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

The lovely Delia smiles again!

That killing frown has left her brow:
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?

Love is an April's doubtful day:
Awhile we see the tempest low'r;
Anon the radiant heav'n survey,

And quite forget the flitting show'r.
The flowers that hung their languid head,
Are banish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.
The sprightly birds, that droop'd no less
Beneath the power of rain and wind,
In every raptur'd note, express
The joy I feel,-when thou art kind.

FAIR FIDELE.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

Born 1720-Died 1756.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring

Each op'ning sweet of earliest bloom,

And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen;
No goblins lead their nightly crew,
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!

The redbreast oft, at ev'ning hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flow'rs,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds and beating rain
In tempests shake the sylvan cell,
Or midst the chace on every plain

The tender thought on thee shall dwell;

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,

And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

[To be sung by Guiderus and Arviragus, in Cymbeline over Fidele, whom they imagine dead. One copy of the song commences:

To fair Pastora's grassy tomb.']

VOL. I.

ARPASIA.

MARK AKENSIDE.

Born 1721-Died 1770.

The shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair;

I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.

A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win;
Give me an animated form
That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honour shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines

The tenderness of love.

These are the soul of beauty's frame,

Without whose vital aid, Unfinish'd all her features seem,

And all her roses dead.

But, ah! where both their charms unite,

How perfect is the view; With every image of delight, With graces ever new.

Of power to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express
All language must despair;
But go, behold Arpasia's face,
And read it perfect there.

[This song is attributed to Akenside on the authority of Ritson. 1 find it printed in Mr Dyce's Edition of Akenside's Poems just published, to which the Editor has added a very able and interesting account of the poet's life.]

O NANCY WILT THOU GO WITH ME.

THOMAS PERCY.

Born 1728-Died 1811.

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! when thou'rt far away,
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,

Nor shrink before the wintry wind?