11. And as the paffed by With a fcornful glance of her eye, For a fwain muft it be, Like a lazy loon for to die! III. And doft thou nothing heed, Shall be given away, IV. There's not a fingle fwain Of all this fruitful plain, But with hopes and fears Now bufily prepares V. Shall another maiden fhine In brighter array than thine? Tune thy pipe once again, VI. Alas! O the brook and the willow that heard him complain, T° Ah willow, willow. Poor Colin fat weeping, and told them his pain; Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow. II. Sweet stream, he cry'd fadly, I'll teach thee to flow. Ah willow, &c. And the waters fhall rife to the brink with my woe. Ah willow, &c. III. All restless and painful poor Amoret lies, Ah willow, &c. And counts the fad moments of time as it flies. IV. To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumbers repair; Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make he Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to creep, Perhaps thy foft murmurs might lull her to fleep. Ah willow, &c. VI. Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close, Ah willow, &c. So the fleep that I lose brings my fair-one repose, VII. But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed; Ah willow, &c. If the lofs of my dear-one, my love is decreed; Ah willow, &c. VIII. If no more my fad heart by those eyes shall be chear'd; Ah willow, &c. If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard; IX. Believe me, thou fair-one; thou dear-one, believe, Few fighs to thy lofs, and few tears will I give. X. One fate to thy Colin and thee fhall be ty'd, And foon lay thy fhepherd close by thy cold fide. XI. Then run, gentle brook; and to lose thyfelf, hafte Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my last; TO THE SAME, SINGING, WH I. HAT charms in melody are found How do we catch the healing found, And feel the foothing strain! II. Still when I hear thee, O my fair, I bid my heart rejoice; III. The feafons Philomel obey, She bids the winter fly away, SONG, THE FAIR INCONSTANT. H E. INCE I have long lov'd you in vain, SINCE And doted on every feature; Give me at length but leave to complain Of fo ungrateful a creature. Though I beheld in your wandering eyes Still I refolv'd against being wise, And lov'd you in fpite of your changing. SHE. Why should you blame what heaven has made, Or find any fault in creation? 'Tis not the crime of the faithlefs maid, 'But nature's inclination. |