V.

My books that wont to footh my mind
No longer now can please:
There only thofe amusement find

That have a mind at ease.

I.

Memory! celestial maid!

Who glean'ft the flow'rets cropt by time;

And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring those moments to my mind When life was new, and Lesbia kind.

II. And

II.

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook the bound;
And bring that wreath of roses bright
Which then my feftive temples crown'd.
And to my raptur'd ear convey

The gentle things the deign'd to say.
III.

And sketch with care the Mufe's bow'r,

Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;
Nor yet omit one reed or flow'r

That shines on Cherwell's verdant fide;
If fo thou may'ft thofe hours prolong,
When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.
IV.

The fong it 'vails not to recite

But fure, to footh our youthful dreams, Those banks and streams appear'd more bright Than other banks, than other ftreams:

Or by thy foftening pencil fhewn,

Affume they beauties not their own ?

V.

And paint that sweetly vacant scene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My spirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow;
That nothing fhould my foul infpire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.

VI. Dull

VI.

Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Mufe attends;
As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight,
On thy expreffive pow'r depends;
Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that fhines.
VII.

But let me chase those vows away
Which at ambition's fhrine I made;
Nor ever let thy fkill difplay

Thofe anxious moments, ill repaid:
Oh! from my breast that season rase,
And bring my childhood in its place..

VIII.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I beftrode;
When pleas'd, in many a fportive ring,
Around the room I jovial rode:

Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,
And bring the whistle that I blew.

IX.

Then will I mufe, and penfive fay,

Why did not these enjoyments last ?...
How sweetly wasted I the day,

While innocence allow'd to waste?
Ambition's toils alike are vain,
But ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

The

The Princefs ELIZABETH:

A Ballad, alluding to a Story recorded of her, when he was a Prisoner at Woodstock, 1554

W

By the Same.

LL you hear how once repining
Great Eliza captive lay?

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and sway?

While the nymphs and fwains delighted
Tript around in all their pride;
Envying joys by others flighted,
Thus the royal maiden cry'd..

Bred on plains, or born in vallies,
Who would bid those scenes adieu ?
Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts purfue?

Malice never taught to treasure,

Cenfure never taught to bear:
Love is all the shepherd's pleasure ;
Love is all the damfel's care.

How

1

How can they of humble station
Vainly blame the pow'rs above?
Or accufe the dispensation

Which allows them all to love?

Love like air is widely given;

Pow'r nor chance can these restrain ; Trueft, nobleft gifts of heaven! Only pureft on the plain !

Peers can no fuch charms discover,
All in ftars and garters drest,
As, on Sundays, does the lover
With his nofegay on his breast.

Pinks and rofes in profufion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near ; Fops may use the fame allufion, But the fhepherd is fincere.

Hark to yonder milk-maid finging,
Cheerly 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.