Alas! filly fwain that I was !

Thus fadly complaining he cried;
When firft I beheld that fair face,
"Twere better by far I had died.
She talk'd, and I bleft the dear tongue,
When she fmil'd 'twas a pleasure too great;

I liften'd, and cry'd, when the fung,
Was nightingale ever fo fweet?

How foolish was I to believe

She would doat on fo lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve To forfake the fine folks of the town; To think that a beauty so gay,

Το

So kind and fo conftant would prove,

go And live in a cottage on love.

clad like our maidens in gray,

What tho' I have fkill to complain,

Tho' the Mufes my temples have crown'd?
What tho' when they hear my foft strain,
The virgins fit weeping around?

Ah COLIN thy hopes are in vain,
Thy pipe and thy laurel refign,

Thy fair one inclines to a swain
Whofe mufic is fweeter than thine.

And

And you my companions fo dear,
Who forrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I fuffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the falfe maid;

Tho' thro' the wide world we should range,
"Tis in vain from our fortune to fly;
'Twas hers to be false, and to change,
'Tis mine to be constant, and die.

If while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,

Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,
And fee me laid low in the ground:
The laft humble boon that I crave

Is to fhade me with cypress and yew,
And when the looks down on my grave
Let her own that her shepherd was true.

Then to her new love let her go,
And deck her in golden array,

Be fineft at every fine show,

And frolic it all the long day:
While COLIN forgotten and gone,
No more fhall be heard of or feen,
Unless when beneath the pale moon
His ghoft fhall glide over the
E 4

green.

ROWE.

A

S on a fummer's day,

In the greenwood shade I lay,
The maid that I lov'd,

As her fancy mov'd,
Came walking forth that way.

And as the paffed by,

With a scornful glance of her eye,

What a fhame, quoth fhe,

For a fwain muft it be,

Like a lazy loon for to lie?

And doft thou nothing heed

What Pan our God has decreed;

What a prize to-day

Shall be given away

To the sweetest shepherd's reed?

There's

There's not a single swain
Of all this fruitful plain,

But with hopes and fears,

Now bufily prepares The bonny boon to gain.

Shall another maiden shine
In brighter array than thine?
Up, up, dull fwain,

Tune thy pipe once again,
And make the garland mine.

Alas! my love, I cried,
What avails this courtly pride?

Since thy dear defert

Is written in my heart, What is all the world befide?

To me thou art more gay

In this homely ruffet gray,

Than the nymphs of our green,
So trim and fo fheen,

Or the brightest queen of May.

What

What tho' my fortune frown,
And deny thee a filken gown;
My own dear maid,

Be content with this fhade

And a fhepherd all thy own.

RowE.

A

LEXIS fhunn'd his fellow fwains,
Their rural fports and jocund ftrains;
Heaven fhield us all from Cupid's bow!

He loft his crook, he left his flocks,
And wandering thro' the lonely rocks,
He nourish'd endless woe.

The nymphs and shepherds round him came,
His grief fome pity, others blame,

The fatal caufe all kindly feek;

He mingled his concern with theirs,
He gave them back their friendly tears,

He figh'd, but could not speak.

CLORINDA