DAMON AND PHOEBE. WHEN the sweet rosy morning first peep'd from the skies, A loud singing lark bade the villagers rise; the green, Did homage to Phoebe-and hail'd her their queen. Young Damon stepp'd forward: he sung in her praise, And Phoebe bestow'd him a garland of bays: May this wreath, said the fair one, dear lord of my vows, A crown for true merit bloom long on thy brows: The swains and their sweethearts that danced on the green Approved the fond present of Phoebe their queen. 'Mongst lords and fine ladies, we shepherds are The dearest affections are barter'd for gold; [told, That discord in wedlock is often their lot, While Cupid and Hymen shake hands in a cot: At the church with fair Phoebe since Damon has been, He's rich as a monarch-she's bless'd as a queen, THE MILLER. IN a plain pleasant cottage, conveniently neat, With a mill and some meadows- -a freehold estate, A well meaning miller by labour supplies Those blessings that grandeur to great ones denies : No passions to plague him, no cares to torment, Ere the lark's early carols salute the new day, On Sunday bedeck'd in his homespun array, THE SYCAMORE SHADE. THE' other day as I sat in the sycamore shade, Young Damon came whistling along, I trembled I blush'd—a poor innocent maid! And my heart caper'd up to my tongue : Silly heart (I cried), fie! What a flutter is here! Young Damon designs you no ill; The shepherd's so civil, you've nothing to fear, Then prithee, fond urchin, lie still.' Sly Damon drew near, and knelt down at my feet, One kiss he demanded--no more! But urged the soft pressure with ardour so sweet, I could not begrudge him a score: My lambkins I've kiss'd,and no change ever found, Many times as we play'd on the hill; But Damon's dear lips made my heart gallop round, Nor would the fond urchin lie still. When the sun blazes fierce, to the sycamore shade, And, virgins, in faith I'm no longer afraid, At every fond kiss that with freedom he takes, My heart may rebound if it will; There's something so sweet in the bustle it makes, I'll die ere I bid it lie still. THE SEASON FOR LOVE. SET IN THE SCOTS STYLE BY MR. SHIELD, AND SUNG AT VAUXHALL. IN spring, my dear shepherds! your flowerets are gay, [May, They breathe all their sweets in the sunshine of But hang down their heads when December draws near: The winter of life is like that of the year. The larks and the linnets that chant o'er the plains, All, all are in love while the summer remains ; Their sweethearts in autumn no longer are dear: The winter of life is like that of the year. The season for love is when youth's in its prime : Ye lads and ye lasses! make use of your time; The frost of old age will too quickly appear: The winter of life is like that of the year. THE BIRTHDAY OF PHILLIS. TIs the birthday of Phillis; hark! how the birds With roses and ribands her lambkins are crown'd; Then on the gay land with a frolic they bound, But first take a kiss from her hand. 'Mongst shepherds, in all the gay round of the year, This, this is their principal day! It gave Phillis birth; and pray what can appear More pleasing or lovingly gay? Hark! hark! how the tabor enlivens the scene! "Tis charming to sport on a daisy-dress'd green : In order to give us a beautiful day, Has banish'd each traveling cloud. The priest pass'd along, and my shepherdess sigh'd! Sweet Phillis!-I guess'd what she meant: Westole from the pastimes-I made her my bride; Her sigh was the sigh of consent. THE HAWTHORN BOWER. The fickle sex the boy defied, When Delia from the neighbouring glade The lovers had not long reclined Inconstancy (she cried) I find For young Alexis sigh'd and press'd I quite forgot the wishing guest THE WARNING. YOUNG Colin once courted Myrtilla the prude, If he sigh'd or look'd tender, she cried he was rude; Though he begg'd with devotion, some ease for his pain, The shepherd got nothing but frowns and disdain : |