A FABLE. OLD TIME and PLEASURE, on a day, 'Dear TIME!' says PLEASURE, 'prithee, stay! Let's have some friendly talk!' 'Alluring Fair!' said he, 'I know 'My destined race I still pursue; Lest those blind crowds that follow you, Then swift along the plain he ran; While loitering PLEASURE stood, To intercept the view of Man, Enticing all she could. Some few, indeed, kept up with TIME, But such as with gay PLEASURE chime, Charlotte Sophia, Queen Consort of George III. VERSES HANDED ABOUT, AS THE PRODUCTION OF HER PRESENT MAJESTY. 'GENTEEL is my DAMON, engaging his Air! and gay! 'He's ever good-humoured! He's generous 'By virtue illumined his actions appear! 'He has promised to love me! His word I'll believe; For his heart is too honest to let him deceive! Then blame me, ye Fair Ones! if justly ye can; Since the picture I've drawn is exactly the Man!' My sheep I neglected, I lost my sheep-hook; Through regions remote in vain do I rove, Alas! 'Tis too late, at my fate to repine! O, what had my youth with Ambition to do? JANE ELLIOT. FLODDEN FIELD OR FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. I've heard of a lilting, at our ewes' milking, At bughts, in the morning, nae blyth Lads are scorning. The Lasses are lonely, dowie, and wae: Nae daffin, nae gabbin; but sighing and sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away. At e'en, at the gloming, nae Swankies are roaming 'Mong stacks, with the Lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits dreary, lamenting her deary, The Flowers of the Forest that are wede away. At Har'st, at the Shearing, nae Younkers are jearing. O, dool for the order, sent our Lads to the Border! We'll hear nae mair lilting at our ewes' milking! Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning, FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. I'VE seen the smiling Of Fortune beguiling! I've felt all its favours; and found its decay! Kind, its caressing ; But now, 'tis fled-fled far away! I've seen the Forest Adorned the foremost With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay; Sae bonny was their blooming, Their scent the air perfuming; But now they are withered and weeded away! I've seen the morning, With gold the hills adorning; And loud tempest storming before the midday! I've seen Tweed's silver streams Shining in the sunny beams, Grow drumbly and dark, as he rowed on his way! O, fickle Fortune! Why this cruel sporting? O, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your frowns can fear me! |