SONG 52.

By LORD LYTTLETON to his Lucy.

To him that in an hour muft die
Not fwifter feems that hour to fly,

Than flow the minutes feem to me,
Which keep me from the fight of thee.

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,
O! come with all thy heav'nly charms,
At once to justify and pay
The pain I feel from this delay.

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',
The mair Ikifs, fhe's ay my dearie..

O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon mofs amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love thro' the water..

Down amang the broom, the broom,
Down amang the broom, my dearie,,
The laffie loft a filken fnood,

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 :
Little Cupid beat time, and the graces around.
Taught with even divifions to vary the found.

From my Chloe remov'd when I bid it complain,
And warble smooth numbers to footh love fick pain;
How much alter'd it feems as the rifing notes flow,
And the foft-falling ftrains how infipidly flow;',
I will play then no more, for it's her voice alone
Muft enrapture my foul to enliven its tone.

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;
What kind of nymph the heav'ns decree,
The maid that's made for love and me.

Who pants to hear the figh fincere,
Who melts to fee the tender tear;
From each ungentle paffion free.
Be fuch the maid that's made for me.

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,
Are all the natives of her heart;
A gentle train from falfehood free,
Such the maid that's made for me.

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
WAY to the field, fee the morning looks
grey,

And, fweetly bedappled, forbodes a fine day:
The hounds are all eager the fport to embrace,
And carol aloud to be led to the chace.

Then hark, in the morn, to the call of the horn,
And join with the jovial crew;

While the feafon invites, with all its delights,
The health giving chace to pursue.

How charming the fight, when Aurora firft dawns,
To fee the bright beagles fpread over the lawns,
To welcome the fun, now returning from reft,
Their mattins they chant as they merrily queft.
Then bark, &c.

But oh! how each bofom with transport it fills,
To ftart, juft as Phoebus peeps over the hills,
While joyous, from valley to valley refounds,
The fhouts of the hunters, and cry of the hounds.
Then hark, &c, .

See how the brave hunters with courage elate,
Fly hedges or ditches, or top the barr'd gate;
Borne by their bold courfers, no dangers they fear,
And give to the winds all vexation and care.

Then hark, &c.