NG 137. THE BRAES OF BALLENDEN. By Dr. Blacklock. BENEATH a green shade, a lovely young fwain, Ae ev'ning reclin'd to difcover his pain; So fad, yet fo fweetly he warbled his woe, The wind ceas'd to breathe, and the fountains to flow; Rude winds, wi' compaffion, cou'd hear him complain, Yet Chloe, lefs gentle, was deaf to his ftrain. How happy, he cry'd, my moments once flew, E'er Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view; Thofe eyes then, wi' pleasure, the dawn cou'd furvey, Nor fmil'd the fair morning mair chearfu' than they; Now scenes of diftrefs pleafe only my fight, I'm tortur'd in pleasure, and languish in light. Thro' changes, in vain, relief I pursue, All, all but confpire my griefs to renew ; From funshine to zephyrs and fhades we repair, To funfhine we fly from too piercing an air : But love's ardent fever burns always the fame ; No winter can cool it, no fummer inflame. But fee the pale moon, all clouded, retires, The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's defires : I fly from the dangers of tempeft and wind, SONG 138. Sung at RANELAGH. THAT Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride, I always have boafted, and feek not to hide ; I dwell on her praises, where ever I go; They fay I'm in love, but I answer, No, no; They fay, I'm in love, but I answer, No, no. At ev'ning oft times, with what pleasure I fee She fings me a fong, and I echo its strain ; She tells me her faults as he fits on my knce: My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think fo: From beauty and wit, and good humour, how I SONG 139. CORN RIGS ARE BONNY. MY Patie is a lover gay, His mind is never muddy, His fhape is handfome, middle fize; The fhining of his een surprise; Last night I met him on a bawk, There mony a kindly word he fpak', He kifs'd, and vow'd he wad be mine, Let maidens of a filly mind Refuse what maift they're wanting, Then I'll comply and marry Pate, SONG 140. THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERDESS. Tune. If love's a fweet paffion, &c. ON a round: But the tears from her eyes in pure riv'lets they flow'd, Whilft her breaft with thefe accents rapturously glow'd: O! why cruel Fate from my arms did ye tear My faithful young fhepherd, ever conftant and dear? And force him away to a distance fo far, 'Midst the direful alarms of outrageous war! There he'll bafely be mangl'd or inhumanly flain, And my shepherd, dear fhepherd! I'll ne'er fee again. Ye woods and ye groves, where often we've ftray'd, Whilft our lambs frifk'd their gimbols, and fportively play'd; Where first my young fwain made to me known his love, And fwore ever conftant and true he would prove : Now in vain your trees bud, they all flourish in vain, Since my fhepherd, dear fhepherd! I'll ne'er fee again. Ye cool fhady bow'rs and fweet-fcented alcoves ; And ye fongsters, who chant your gay notes in the groves; Ye high water falls, and smooth serpentine ftreams; Rural fubjects for lovers, for them pleafing themes: |