And hears and fees thee all the while

Softly speak and fweetly fmile!

'Twas this bereav'd my foul of reft, And rais'd fuch tumults in breaft;

my

For while I gaz'd in transport toft,
My breath was gone, my voice was loft:

My bofom glow'd; the fubtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung:

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrora thrill'd,
My feeble pulfe forgot to play,
I fainted, funk, and dy'd away.

GALLOWSHIELS.

AH the fhepherd's mournful fate!

When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish,

To bear the fcornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare difclofe his anguish!

Yet eager looks and dying fighs,

My fecret foul discover,

While rapture trembling through mine eyes,

Reveals how much I love her:

The tender glance, the red'ning cheek,
O'erfpread with rifing blushes,
A thoufand various ways they speak,
A thousand various wishes.

For oh! that form fo heavenly fair,
Thofe languid eyes fo fweetly fimiling;
That artless blush, and modeft air,
So fatally beguiling.

Thy every look, and every grace,
So charm whene'er I view thee,
Till death o'ertake me in the chace,
Still will my hopes purfue thee.
Then when my tedious hours are past,
Be this laft bleffing given,

Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in fight of heaven.

-ཅ་ལན་ར་པ་རབ་

SONG 151.

Love is the Caufe of my Mourning.

By a murmuring ftream a fair shepherdess lay, Be fo kind, O ye nymphs, I oft-times heard her

fay,

Tell Strephon I die, if he paffes this way,

And that love is the caufe of my mourning.

Falfe fhepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms, You deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never

warms;

Yet bring me this Strephon, let me die in his arms, Oh Strephon! the cause of my mourning.

But firft, faid fhe, let me go down to the shades below,

Ere ye let Strephon know that I have lov'd him fo; Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show,

That love was the caufe of my mourning.

Her eyes were fearce clofed when Strephon came by;

He thought he'd been sleeping and foftly drew nigh:

But finding her breathlefs, Oh heav'ns! did he cry, Ab Chloris! the cause of my mourning..

Reftore me my Chloris, ye nymphs, use your art, They, fighing, reply'd, 'Twas your eyes shot the dart,

That wounded the tender young fhepherdess' heart, And kill'd the poor Chloris with mourning.

Ah then is Chloris dead, wounded by me! he faid; I'll follow thee, chafte maid, down to the filent fhade,

Then on her cold fnowy breaft, leaning his head, Expir'd the poor Strephon with mourning.

SONG 152.

THE MERRY BACCHANALIAN S.

Tune, The merry-ton'd horn.

JOLLY fouls that are gen'rous and free,

And true vot'ries to Bacchus will be,
To great Bacchus' Shrine let's repair,
And a bottle or two offer there.

Exempt from excife, our joys higher rife,
Still drinking, ne'er thinking of what is to pay ;
Our bottle at night gives us joy and delight,
And drowns all the drowsy fatigues of the day.

Let the griping old ufurer pine,
Let the lover call Phillis divine,
Let each man what he fancies commend,
My delight's in my bottle and friend.

Exempt fromy &c.

O what joy from the bottle there springs,

It can make us greater than kings;
If our fpirits by grief are opprefs'd,
Wine alone can procure us fome rest.

Exempt from, &c.

Great influence has wine over love,

And the coy can make kinder to prove ;·
Tho' the nymph very flighting denies,

It discovers the truth in her eyes.

Exempt from, &c.

It can make us all heroes in brief,

And the wretched forget all his grief;:
It infpires the gallant and brave,.
And freedom can give to the slave.

Exempt from, &c.

SONG 153.

THE DRUNKEN WIFE O' GALLOWA'.

DOWN in yon meadow a couple did tarry, The goodwife the drank naething but fack and Canary,

The goodman he complain'd to her friends right airly,

O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly..

First she drank Crommy, and fyne she drank Garie,
And fyne fhe drank the bonny grey marie,
That carried me thro' the dubs and and the larie;

Q! gin, &c.

She drank her hofe, she drank her fhoon,,
And fyne fhe drank her bonny new, gown
She drank her fark that cover'd her rarely,

Q! gin, &c.

Wad fhe drink her ain things,. I wadna care,.
But he drinks my claiths. I canna weel spare ;
When I'm wi' my goffips it, angers me fairly,
O! gin, &c.