Bring, bring those moments to my mind
When life was new, and Lesbia kind.

II.

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook she bound; And bring that wreath of roses bright

Which then my feftive temples crown'd.

And to my raptur❜d ear convey

The gentle things fhe deign'd to fay.
III.

And sketch with care the Mufe's bow'r,

Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;

Nor yet omit one reed or flow'r,

That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide; If so thou may'ft those hours prolong, When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.

IV.

The fong it 'vails not to recite

But fure, to footh our youthful dreams,

Those banks and streams appear'd more bright

Than other banks, than other streams:

Or by thy foftening pencil fhewn,

Affume they beauties not their own?

V,

And paint that sweetly vacant icene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My spirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow;
That nothing should my foul inspire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.
VI.

Dull to the sense of new delight,

On thee the drooping Mufe attends As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight, On thy expreffive pow'r depends; Nor would exchange thy glowing lines, To live the lord of all that shines.

VII.

But let me chase those vows away,

Which at ambition's fhrine I made; Nor ever let thy skill display

Those anxious moments, ill repaid: Oh! from my breast that season rafe, And bring my childhood in its place. VIII.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,

And bring the hobby I beftrode;

When

When pleas'd, in many a sportive ring,

Around the room I jovial rode :
Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew.

IX.

Then will I muse, and penfive fay,
Why did not these enjoyments laft?
How sweetly wafted I the day,

While innocence allow'd to wafte?
Ambition's toils alike are vain,
But ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

The Princefs ELIZABETH:

A Ballad, alluding to a Story recorded of her, when she was a Prisoner at Woodstock, 1554.

By the Same.

WILL you hear how once repining

Great Eliza captive lay,

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and fway?

VOL. IV.

A a

While

While the nymphs and swains delighted
Tript around in all their pride;
Envying joys by others flighted,
Thus the royal maiden cry'd.

Bred on plains, or born in vallies,
Who would bid those scenes adieu ?

Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts pursue?

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

How can they of humble ftation

Vainly blame the pow'rs above?

Or accuse the dispensation

Which allows them all to love?

Love like air is widely given;

Pow'r nor chance can thefe restrain;

Trueft, nobleft gifts of heaven!

Only pureft on the plain!

Peers

Peers can no fuch charms difcover,
All in ftars and garters drest,
As, on Sundays, does the lover
With his nofegay on his breaft,

Pinks and roses in profufion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near; Fops may use the fame allufion, But the fhepherd is fincere,

Hark to yonder milk-maid finging
Cheerly o'er the brimming pail;
Cowflips all around her springing,
Sweetly paint the golden vale,

Never yet

did courtly maiden

Move fo fprightly, look so fair;

Never breast with jewels laden
Pour a fong fo void of care,

Would indulgent heav'n had granted
Me fome rural damfel's part!

All the empire I had wanted

Then had been my fhepherd's heart,