DAMON AND PHOEBE.

WHEN the sweet rosy morning first peep'd from the skies,

A loud singing lark bade the villagers rise;
The cowslips were lively-the primroses gay,
And shed their best perfumes to welcome the May:
The swains and their sweethearts, all ranged on

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,
His constant companions are Health and Content;
Their lordships in lace may remark, if they will,
He's honest, though daub'd with the dust of his mill.

Ere the lark's early carols salute the new day,
He springs from his cottage as jocund as May;
He cheerfully whistles, regardless of care,
Or sings the last ballad he bought at the fair:
While courtiers are toil'd in the cobwebs of state,
Or bribing elections, in hopes to be great,
No fraud or ambition his bosom e'er fill,
Contented he works if there's grist for his mill..

On Sunday bedeck'd in his homespun array,
At church he's the loudest to chant or to pray;
He sits to a dinner of plain English food,
Though simple the pudding, his appetite's good.
At night, when the priest and exciseman are gone,
He quaffs at the alehouse with Roger and John,
Then reels to his pillow, and dreams of no ill;
No monarch more bless'd than the man of the mill.

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,
For shelter, I'm sure to repair;

And, virgins, in faith I'm no longer afraid,
Although the dear shepherd be there:

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
Their notes are remarkably sweet;
[sing!
The villagers brought all the honours of spring,
And scatter'd their pride at her feet.

With roses and ribands her lambkins are crown'd;
A while they respectfully stand;

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!
Ye lads with your lasses advance!

"Tis charming to sport on a daisy-dress'd green :
And Phillis shall lead up the dance.
The Sun-and he shines in his brightest array,
As if on this festival proud,

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.
PALEMON, in the hawthorn bower
With fond impatience lay;
He counted every anxious hour
That stretch'd the tedious day.
The rosy dawn Pastora named,
And vow'd that she'd be kind;
But ah! the setting sun proclaim'd
That women's vows are-wind.

The fickle sex the boy defied,
And swore, in terms profane,
That Beauty in her brightest, pride
Might sue to him in vain.

When Delia from the neighbouring glade
Appear'd in all her charms,
Each angry vow Palemon made
Was lost in Delia's arms.

The lovers had not long reclined
Before Pastora came :

Inconstancy (she cried) I find
In every heart's the same;

For young Alexis sigh'd and press'd
With such bewitching power,

I quite forgot the wishing guest
That waited in the bower.'

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 :