All endeavours are vain Which is felt in a love-troubled heart. Though life's busy scene And difperfe the dark clouds of despair; Who can fay what the mind fuffers there? Hafte this day to employ, And with innocent mirth let's abound; May all present attain SONG 682. FEMALE ADVICE. PURSUING beauty, men defcry The diftant fhore, and long to prove, Still richer in variety, The treafures of the land of love. We women, like weak Indians, ftand, Inviting from our golden coaft The wand'ring rovers to our land; But he who trades with them is loft. With humble vows they firft begin, Stealing unfeen, into the heart; But, by poffeflion fettled in, They quickly act another part. For beads and baubles we refign, In ignorance, our fhining store, Discover nature's richest mine, And yet the tyrants will have more. Ye fair, take heed, forbear to try How men can court, or you be won; For love is but difcovery, When that is made the pleafure's done. SONG 683. THE fun in virgin luftre shone, May-morning put it's beauties on; The warblers fung in livelier ftrains, And fweeter flow'rets deck'd the plains; When love, a foft intruding gueft, That long had dealt in Damon's breaft, Now whifper'd to the nymph, Away! For this is nature's holiday. The tender impulfe wing'd his hafte; Arife. my Sylvia! hail the May, Forth came the maid, in beauty bright Ah, foft, (fhe faid) for pity's fake! A crimson glow warm'd o'er her cheek, SONG 684. Sung at RANELAGH, THE fragrant lily of the vale, So elegantly fair, Whofe fweets perfume the fanning gale, To Chloe I compare; What tho' on earth it lowly grows, And ftrives it's head to hide! To many a gaudy ftain, See how the curious florift's hand There while it theds it's fweets around, SONG 685. Sung in the Capricious Lovers. WHEN vapours o'er the meadows die, And morning freaks the purple sky, I wake to love with jocund glee, To think on him who doats on me. When eve embrowns the verdant grove, And Philomel laments her love, Each figh I breathe my love reveals, With fecret pleasure I furvey SONG 686. RETIREMENT. Written by Mr. NICHOLLS. What tho' with you no balls invite, Far, far more lafting joys than these, The rofy maid, the jocund fwains, With folitude and eafe; The furze-blown heath, the fragrant thorn, And ample fields of rifing corn, The farmer's promis d wealth; But more than all, what feldem found Vivacity and health. SONG 689. View the fields all fmiling round; See the shepherd penfive fit, How contented is his state! Free from forrows, free from pain, SONG 690. A SONNET. When a lover mildly proffers You his hand-his truth to prove, Then, you may accept his offers, For they come from artless love. What on earth can give fuch pleasure ! What fo foon our cares remove! What can be fo great a treasure SONG 693. BE hufh'd, ye fweet birds, and forbear your OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, fhrill notes, Nor deign fuch a clamour to keep; But stop a few moments, and rest your foft throats, For here lies a goddess asleep! Keep off, ye pert flies, from the cheek of my fair, And let her contentedly lay; For, if you prefume to alight on her face, "You'll wake her as fure as 'tis day!" Written by Mr. W-LL-S. LOVE's a pleafing noble paffion, Kindly fent us from above; And tho' growing out of fashion, What can equal artless love? What tho' moderns difregard it, I like them will never prove: Diffimulation!-I difcard it; Nought can pleafe like artlefs love. When a lover fues for favour, And with oaths would pity move, Truft not, Delia, fuch behaviour, 'Tis devoid of artlefs love." 'Tis defign'd but to deceive you, When he swears to pow'rs above; Of your peace he would bereave you, Think not, then, 'tis artless love. Bright Lucy was the grace; Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid ftream Reflect a fairer face. Till luckless love and pining care Impair'd her roly hue,. 'When beating rains descend? The maidens weeping round. I fee a hand you cannot fee, Which beckons me away. Is twice as rich as I? Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs, To-morrow in the church to wed Impatient both prepare: But know, fond maid, and know, falfe That Lucy will be there. Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear, The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim fo gay, I in my winding-fheet! man, She fpoke, and dy'd-her corfe was borne, The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim fo gay, She in her winding-sheet. Oh! what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts How were thofe nuptials kept! The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, From the vain bride, a bride no more, The varying crimson fled; When, ftretch'd befide her rival's corse, She faw her husband dead. He to his Lucy's new-made grave, Convey'd by trembling swains, One mold with her, beneath one fod, For ever now remains. Oft at this place the conftant hind And plighted maid are seen: With garlands gay, and true-love knots They deck the sacred green. But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art, This hallow'd spot forbear! Remember Colin's dreadful fate, And fear to meet him there. SONO 694. Written by Mr. NICHOLLS. WITH Phebe, wherever I go, The gay ones thus fing of my love: The rich balfam the honey bee fips, That her form is compleatly defign'd, But the wants the rare gifts of the mind. What are eyes, lips, or cheeks, or a mien! What is all that the fchools can impart! What's the finest complexion e'er feen! If the graces are not in the heart! No foaring pinions reach the skies, The shepherd now his crook forfakes, Fair Phillis, hear the direful truth, Depend not on thy fading charms, Refign them to Amintor's arms, And blefs the happy hour. Then fhall life's fpring glide on ferene, THE fun was funk beneath the hill, The flocks were penn'd within the fold; Who feeks to pluck the fragrant rofe From the hard rock or ouzy beach; No herds have I, no fleecy care, No fields that wave with golden grain, No paftures green, or gardens fair, A woman's venal beart to gain; Then all in vain my fighs muft prove, Whofe whole eftate, alas! is love, How wretched is the faithful youth, Since women's hearts are bought and fold; They ask no vows of facred truth, Whene'er they figh, they figh for gold. Gold can the frowns of fcorn remove; But I am fcorn'd-who have but love, To buy the gems of India's coaft What wealth, what riches would fuffice? Yet India's fhore fhould never boast The luftre of thy rival eyes; For there the world too cheap must prove; Then, Mary, fince nor gems nor ore Than gems or ore, a heart fincere: SONG 698. THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERDESS. Written by Mr. HAWKINS. THAT little rogue Cupid, I vow, Is playing fuch tricks with my heart, I flutter-I cannot tell how, Yet feel the fharp pangs of his dart. What cruel, ungenerous fwain, Could fend this fond urchin to me, Whole heart was a ftranger to pain, And e'er rov'd as free as a bee. But now my poor fenfes are gone, My fpirits are filed from me quite, And I'm a poor maiden forlorn, No reft can I take day or night. How happy, ah! once, fure, was I! So chearfully rofe in the morn, But now am addicted to figh For him that I treated with fcorn. Young Caledon must be the fwain, None like him appears to my view; But harbour content in my mind, CEASE, dear charmer, thus to vex thee, Let not groundless fears perplex thee, Ceafe thy trouble, cease thy pain, From thy tender bofom banish All thofe vain tormenting fears; Thy trial now, fair maid, is o'er, Now in Hymen's bands united, |