Now homeward as fhe hopeless went,
The church-yard path along,

The blaft blew cold, the dark owl fcream'd,
Her lover's fun'ral fong.

Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her ftartling fancy found

In every bush his hovering fhade,
His groan in every found.

Alone, appall'd, thus had fhe pass'd

The vifionary vale,

When lo! the death-bell fmote her ear,

Sad founding in the gale.

Just then she reach'd, with trembling steps,

Her aged mother's door;

He's gone, fhe cry'd, and I fhall fee

That angel face no more.

I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my fide:

From her white arm down funk her head,

She fhiver'd, figh'd, and died.

HE weftern fky was purpled o'er
With every pleafing ray,

And flocks reviving felt no more
The fultry heat of day;

When from a hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled STREPHON's tongue;
He bleft the scene, he bleft the hour,
While NANCY's praise he fung.

Let fops with fickle falfhood range
The paths of wanton love,

Whilft weeping maids lament their change,

And fadden every grove :

But endless bleffings crown the day

I faw fair Efham's dale:

And every bleffing find its way

To NANCY of the vale.

'Twas

"Twas from Avona's bank, the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams;

And every fhining glance display'd
The Naiad of the streams.

Soft as the wild duck's tender young,
That float on Avon's tide;
Bright as the water lily sprung
And glittering near its fide.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom,
Her eye all mild to view;

;

The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half fo blue.

Her shape was like the reed, so sleek,

So taper, strait, and fair;

Her dimpled fmile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!

Far in the winding vale retir'd
This peerless bud I found,

And shadowing rocks and woods confpir'd

To fence her beauties round.

That nature in fo lone a dell
Should form a nymph fo fweet!
Or fortune to her fecret cell
Conduct my wand'ring feet!

Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But fhe would ne'er incline;
Prove to your equals true, the cry'd,
As I will prove to mine.

'Tis STREPHON on the mountain's brow
Has won my right good will;
To him I gave my plighted vow,

With him I'll climb the hill.

Struck with her charms and gentle truth
I clafp'd the conftant fair;

To her alone I give my youth,
And vow my future care.

And when this vow fhall faithless prove,

Or I these charms forego,

The ftream that faw our tender love,

That ftream fhall ceafe to flow.

SHENSTONE.

'ER moorlandsand mountainsrudebarren and bare,

As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young fhepherdefs fees my despair,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home:

Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were ftrew'd on the floor;

Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feats at her door.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits, and fhe cull'd me the best,
Whilft thrown off my guard by fome glances fhe caft,
Love flily ftole into my breast.

I told my foft wishes, fhe fweetly replied
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)

I've rich ones rejected and great ones denied,
Yet take me, fond fhepherd, I'm thine.

Her air was fo modeft, her aspect so meek,

So fimple, yet fweet were her charms,

I kifs'd