SONG 52. By LORD LYTTLETON to his Lucy. To him that in an hour muft die Than flow the minutes feem to me, No more that trembling wretch wou'd give Another day or year to live, Than I to fhorten what remains Of that long hour which thee detains. Oh! come to my impatient arms, SONG 53. DOWN AMANG THE BROOM. BRAW, braw lads of Galla-Water, O braw lads of Galla-Water; I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee And follow my love through the water. Sae fair her hair, fae brent her brow, Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; Sae white her teeth, fae fweet her mou', O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae, And follow my love thro' the water.. Down amang the broom, the broom, That coft her mony a blert, and bleary. SONG 54. To the Ture of the foregoing. No repofe can I difcover, Nor find joy without my lover; Can I ftay when he's not near me ; Cruel Fates once deign to hear me. The charms of grandeur don't decoy me, Fair Eliza, mut enjoy me; My crown and, fceptre I refign, The shepherd's life fhall ftill be mine, ON To SONG 55. N thy banks, gentle Tay, when I breath'd the foft flute, my Chloe's fweet accents attention fat mute; To her voice with what transport I fwell'd the flow ftrain, Or return'd dying measures in echoes again : From my Chloe remov'd when I bid it complain, SONG 56. THE MAID THAT'S MADE FOR LOVE AND ME. O! WOULD ST thou know what facred charms This deftin'd heart of mine alarms; Who pants to hear the figh fincere, Who joys where'er fhe fees me glad, Who forrows when the fees me fad ; peace and me can pomp refign, Such the heart that's made for mine. For Whofe foul with gen'rous friendship glows, Who feels the bleffing fhe bestows; Gentle to all, but kind to me, Such be mine, if fuch there be. 1 Whofe genuine thoughts, devoid of art, Avaunt! ye light coquets! retire Whom glitt'ring fops around admire ; Unmov'd your tinfel charms I fee; More genuine beauties are made for me. Should Love, fantastic as he is, Raise up fome rival to my blifa; And should the change,- but, can that be? No other maid is made for me. SONG 57. The Jovial Huntfmen. AWAY And, fweetly bedappled, forbodes a fine day: Then hark, in the morn, to the call of the horn, While the feafon invites, with all its delights, How charming the fight, when Aurora firft dawns, But oh! how each bofom with transport it fills, See how the brave hunters with courage elate, Then hark, &c. |