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 pursue ?

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 can they of humble ftation

Vainly blame the pow'rs above?

Or accuse the difpenfation

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

Peers can no fuch charms difcover,
All in ftars and garters dreft,
As, on Sundays, does the lover
With his nofegay on his breaft,

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,

Would indulgent heav'n 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 taste the crystal fountains;

Peaceful sleep 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.

XXXX XXXXXXXXX*XXX}

ODE to a Young Lady,

Somewhat too follicitous about her manner of Exprefs.

By the Same.

URVEY, my fair! that lucid stream

SURV

Adown the fmiling valley ftray;

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

So pleas'd I view thy fhining hair
In loose difhevell'd ringlets flow:
Not all thy art, nor all thy care
Can there one fingle grace bestow.

Survey

Survey again that verdant hill,
With native plants enamell'd o'er;
Say, can the painter's utmost skill

Inftruct one flow'r to please us more?

As vain it were, with artful dye,

To change the bloom thy cheeks disclose, And oh may Laura, ere she 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 fhe, Laura, please fo well?

Oh ever keep thy native ease,

By no pedantic laws confin'd!

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

VER SES

Written towards the clofe of the Year 1748, to WILLIAM LYTTELTON, Efq;

By the Same.

HOW blithely pafs'd the fummer's day!

How bright was every flow'r!

While friends arriv'd, in circles gay,

To vifit Damon's bow'r.

But now, with filent step, I range

Along fome lonely shore;

And Damon's bow'r, alas the change!

gay with friends no more.

Is gay

Away to crowds and cities borne
In queft of joy they steer;
Whilft I, alas! am left forlorn,

To weep the parting year!

O penfive