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Hear me, ye groves, who faw me blefs'd fo late;
Echo, you hills, my fad reverfe of fate;
Ye winds, that bear my fighs, soft murmurs send ;
Come pay me back, ye ftreams, the drops I lend:
And you, fweet Sufan, fource of all my smart,
Bestow fome pity on a broken heart.
Happy the times, by painful memory blefs'd,
When you poffeffing, Robin all poffefs'd!
Pafs'd by your fide, each day brought new delight,
And one sweet flumber shorten'd every night.
My play your fervice, for no toil feem'd hard,
• When your kind favour was the hop'd reward.
I rofe to milking, though 'twas ne'er fo cool;
I call'd the cows up; I kept off the bull:
Home on my head I bore the pail upright;
‹ The pail was heavy, but love made it light;
And when you spilt the milk, and 'gan to cry,
I took the blame, and fimply faid-" "Twas I."
When by the haycock's fide you fleeping lay,
Sent by good angels, there I chanc'd to stray,
Juft as a loathsome adder rear'd his creft,
To dart his poifon in your lily breast,
Straight with a stone I crush'd the monfter's head
• You wak'd, and fainted, though you found him dead!
Then, from the pond, I water brought apace,
My hat brimful, and dafh'd it in your face:
Still, blue as bilberry, your cold lips did quake,
Till my warm kiffes call'd the cherry back.
When, looking thro' his worship's garden-gate,
Ripe peaches tempted, and you long'd to eat ;
Tho' the grim maftiff growl'd, and fternly ftalk'd,
Tho' guns were loaded, and old Madam walk'd;
Nor dogs nor darkness, guns or ghofts, could fright,
When Robin ventur'd for his Sue's delight:
Leap the high wall, and fearless pluck the prey;
* Down in your lap a plenteous fhower they fall;
Glad you receiv'd them, and you eat them all.
When fair-day came, I donn'd my Sunday fuit,
Brush'd the best pillion clean, and faddled Cutt.
Then up we got; you clung about my waist;
Pleas'd to be hugg'd, I charg'd you clip me faft;
And when you loos'd your hold, and backwards flipp'd,
I held your petticoats, and never peep'd.
The pofied garters, and the top-knot fine,
The golden gingerbread, and all was mine:
I paid the puppet-show, the cakes, the fack;
And, fraught with fairings, brought you laughing back.
Sufan but fpoke, and each gay flower was there,
To dress her bough-pot, or adorn her hair;
For her the choicest of the woods I cull,
Sloes, hips, and strawberries, her bellyful:
My hoard of apples I to her confefs'd d;
My heart was her's, well might fhe have the reft.
And Sufan well approv'd her Robin's care:
Yes, you was pleas'd; at leaft you faid you were.
In love's foft fire you feem'd like me to burn,
And footh'd my fondness with a kind return.
At our long table, when we fat to dine,
You ftretch'd your knees, and mingled feet with mine;
With fatteft bacon you my trencher ply'd,
And flic'd my pudding from the plummy fide:
And well I wot, when our small-beer was stale,
You ftole into the barn, and brought me ale.
But, oh! the foldier, blafter of my hopes!
(Curfe on pretending kings, and Papish popes !)
He came from Flanders with the red-coat crew,
To fight with rebels, and he conquer'd you.
His dowlas ruffles, and his copper lace,
• His brickduft stockings, and his brazen face
These are the charms for which you flight my youth,
Charms much too potent for a maiden's truth!
• Soon on the feather'd fool you turn'd your eyes;
Eager you liften'd to the braggart's lyes;
And, fcorning me, your heart to him refign,
• Your faithless heart, by vows and fervice mine.
True, he is gone, by our brave duke's command,
To humble Britain's foes in foreign land:
Ah, what is that! the fpoiler bears away
The only thing for which 'twas worth to ftay.
But forrow's dry; I'll flake it in the brook-
O well-a-day! how frightful pale I look!
"Care's a confumer," (fo the faying speaks ;)
The faying's true, I read it in my cheeks.
Fye! I'll be chearful, 'tis a fancied pain;
A flame fo conftant cannot meet difdain:
I'll wash my face, and thake off foul despair;
My love is kind!-alas, I would the were!
Well fays our parfon; and our parson said,
"True love, and tithes, fhould ever well be paid."
Sufan, from you my heart shall never roam,
If your's be wandering, quickly call it home,'
HE greedy merchant plows the fea for gain, And rides exulting o'er the watery plain; While howling tempefts, from their rocky bed, Indignant break around his careful head.
The royal fleet the liquid wafte explores, And fpeaks in thunder to the trembling fhores ;
The voice of wrath awak'd, the nations hear,
The vanquish'd hope, and the proud victors fear;
Those quit their chain, and these refign their palm,
While Britain's awful flag commands a calm.
The curious fage, nor gain nor fame pursues,
With other eyes the boiling deep he views;
Hangs o'er the cliff inquifitive to know
The secret causes of it's ebb and flow;
Whence breathe the winds that ruffle it's fmooth face,
Or ranks in claffes all the fishy race,
From those enormous monfters of the main,
Who in their world, like other tyrants, reign,
poor cockle-tribe, that humble band,
Who cleave to rocks, or loiter on the ftrand.
Yet even their fhells the Forming Hand divine
Has, with distinguish'd luftre, taught to fhine.
What bright enamel! and what various dyes!
What lively tints delight our wondering eyes !
T'h' Almighty Painter glows in every line :
How mean, alas! is Raphael's bold defign,
And Titian's colouring, if compar'd to thine!
Juftly Supreme! let us thy power revere,
Thou fill'it all space! all-beauteous every where!
Thy rifing fun with blushes paints the morn;
Thy fhining lamps the face of night adorn ;
Thy flowers the meads, thy nodding trees the hills;
The vales thy paftures green, and bubbling; rills:
Thy coral groves, thy rocks that amber weep,
Deck all the gloomy manfions of the deep;
Thy yellow fands, diftinct with golden ore,
And these thy variegated fhells, the shore!
To all thy works fuch grandeur haft thou lent,
And such extravagance of ornament.
For the falfe traitor, man, this pomp and show?
A fcene fo gay, for us poor worms below?
No! for thy glory all these beauties rife ;
Yet may improve the good, inftruct the wife.
You, Madam, fprung from Beaufort's royal line,
Who, loft to courts, can in your closet shine,
Best know to ufe each bleffing he bestows,
Best know to praife the Power from whence it flows.
Shells in your hand the Parian rock defy,
Or agate, or Ægyptian porphyry;
More gloffy they, their veins of brighter dye.
See! where your ring pyramids aspire;
Your guests, furpriz'd, the fhining pile admire!
In future times, if fome great Phidias rise,
Whose chiffel with his mistress Nature vies,
Who, with fuperior skill, can lightly trace,
In the hard marble block, the softeft face;
To crown this piece, fo elegantly neat,
Your well-wrought bufto fhall the whole compleat;
O'er your own work from age to age prefide,
It's author once, and then it's greatest pride,
ULSE fhook his head; poor Damon lay a dying;
And close by his bed-fide his wife fat crying:
O ftay!' fhe said; and must we part!
My foul, like thine, is on the wing:
Methinks, I feel Death's iron dart ;
But, oh! 'tis that which wounds thy heart,
That bears to mine the fting!'
Her grief was great, fo was her moan,
And much to die fhe feem'd inclin'd;
Howe'er, the let him go alone,
And prudently remain'd behind.
A week, or fo, was paft and gone,
Still the continu'd weeping on,