Hark to yonder milk-maid finging

Chearly o'er the brimming pail;
Cowflips all around her springing
Sweetly paint the golden vale.
Never yet did courtly maiden

Move so sprightly, look fo fair;
Never breast with jewels laden
Pour a fong fo void of care.
Would indulgent heaven had granted
Me fome rural damfel's part!
All the empire I had wanted

Then had been my fhepherd's heart.
Then, with him, o'er hills and mountains,
Free from fetters, might I rove:
Fearless tafte the cryftal fountains;

Peaceful fleep beneath the grove.

Ruftics had been more forgiving;
Partial to my virgin bloom :
None had envy'd me when living;
None had triumph'd o'er my tomb."

ODE to a young L A D Y, Somewhat too folicitous about her manner of

expreffion.

URVEY, my fair! that lucid stream,

SURVE

Adown the smiling valley stray;

Would art attempt, or fancy dream,
To regulate its winding way?

2

So

So pleas'd I view thy fhining hair
In loofe difhevel'd ringlets flow:
Not all thy art, not all thy care,
Can there one fingle grace beftow.
Survey again that verdant hill,

With native plants enamel'd o'er;
Say, can the painter's utmost skill
Inftruct one flower to please us more?
As vain it were, with artful dye,

To change the bloom thy cheeks disclosę;
And oh may Laura, ere fhe try,

With fresh vermilion paint the rose.

Hark how the wood-lark's tuneful throat
Can every study'd grace excel;
Let art constrain the rambling note,

And will the, Laura, please so well?

Oh ever keep thy native ease,

By no pedantic law confin'd!

For Laura's voice is form'd to please,
So Laura's words be not unkind.

NANCY of the

VALE.

A BAL LA D.

"Nerine Galatea! thymo mihi dulcior Hyblæ! "Candidior cygnis! hederâ formofior albâ!"

T

HE western sky was purpled o'er

With every pleafing ray:

And flocks reviving felt no more

The fultry heats of day:

When

When from an hazle's artless bower

Soft warbled Strephon's tongue; He bleft the fcene, he bleft the hour, While Nancy's praife he fung.

"Let fops with fickle falfehood range The paths of wanton love,

While weeping maids lament their change

And fadden every grove:

But endless bleflings crown the day.

I faw fair Efham's dale!

And every bleffing find its way
To Nancy of the Vale.

'Twas from Avona's banks the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams;

And every fhining glance difplay'd
The Naiad of the ftreams.

Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,

That floats on Avon's tide.; Bright as the water-lily, fprung, 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 fhape was like the reed fo fleek,

So taper, ftrait, and fair;

Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,

How charming fweet they were!

Far

Far in the winding vale retir'd,

This peerless bud I found;

And fhadowing rock and woods conspir'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 wandering feet!

Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But he 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 constant fair ;

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

And when this vow shall faithless prove,

Or I thofe charms forego;

The ftream that faw our tender love,

That ftream fhall cease to flow.

ODE

ODE to INDOLENCE. 1750.

AH! why for ever on the wing

Perfifts

my

wearied foul to roam?

Why, ever cheated, ftrives to bring
Or pleasure or contentment home?
Thus the poor bird, that draws his name
From paradife's honour'd groves,
Carclefs fatigues his little frame;
Nor finds the refting-place he loves.
Lo! on the rural moffy bed

My limbs with carelefs eafe reclin'd;
Ah, gentle floth! indulgent spread

The fame foft bandage o'er my mind.
For why should lingering thought invade,
Yet every worldly profpect cloy?
Lend me, foft floth, thy friendly aid,

And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.

Lov'st thou yon calm and filent flood,
That never ebbs, that never flows;
Protected by the circling wood

From each tempeftuous wind that blows?
An altar on its bank shall rife,

Where oft thy votary fhall be found; What time pale autumn lulls the skies, And fickening verdure fades around.