The shepherd's so civil, you've nothing to fear, Then prythee, fond urchin, lie still."

Sly Damon drew near, and knelt down at my feet, One kiss he demanded-No more!

But urg'd 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 found urchin lie still.

bind,

And Damon will always prove faithful and kind.

PHILLIS.

To the church then let 's hasten, our transports to bind,

And Phillis will always prove faithful and kind.

THE WARNING.

For shelter, I'm sure to repair;

And, virgins, in faith I'm no longer afraid,

Although the dear shepherd be there:

At ev'ry fond kiss that with freedom he takes,

My heart may rebound if it will;

If he sigh'd or look'd tender, she cry'd he was

rude;

Though he begg'd with devotion, some case for his

pain,

I'll die ere I bid it lie still.

And vow'd that no female should fetter him more.

He strove with all caution to 'scape from the net, But Chloe soon caught him,—a finish'd coquet! She glanc'd to his glances, she sigh'd to his sighs, And flatter'd his hope-in the language of eyes. Alas for poor Colin! when put to the test, Himself and his passion prov'd both but her jest.

By the critical third he was fix'd in the snare;
By Fanny-gay, young, unaffected, and fair;
When she found he had merit, and love took his
part,

She dally'd no longer-but yielded her heart.
With joy they submitted to Hymen's decree,
And now are as happy-as happy can be.

The prude and coquet are two slighted old maids; As the rose-bud of beauty soon sickens and fades, Now their sweets are all wasted,-too late they repent,

For transports untasted, for moments misspent! Ye virgins, take warning, improve by my plan, And fix the fond youth when you prudently can.

HOLIDAY GOWN.

In holiday gown, and my new fangled hat,
Last Monday I tript to the fair;

I held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,
Brisk Roger I guess'd wou'd be there:
He woos me to marry whenever we meet,

There 's honey sure dwells on his tongue! He hugs me so close, and he kisses so sweet,

I'd wed-if I were not too young.

Fond Sue, I'll assure you, laid hold on the boy,
(The vixen wou'd fain be his bride)
Some token she claim'd, either ribbon or toy,
And swore that she 'd not be deny'd:
A top-knot he bought her, and garters of green,
Pert Susan was cruelly stung;

I hate her so much, that, to kill her with spleen,
I'd wed-if I were not too young.

A PASTORAL HYMN TO JANUS.

Floriferi colles, dulces mihi sæpe recessus
Dent, atque hospitibus gaudia plena meis!
Concedatque Deus nunquam, vel sero senescas,
Seroque terrenas experiare vices!
Integra reddantur quæ plurima sæcula rodant
Detur, et ut senio pulchrior eniteas.

ON THE BIRTH OF THE QUEEN.

Te primum pia thura rogent-te vota salutent, te colat omnis honos.

Mart. ad Janum.

To Janus, gentle shepherds! raise a shrine:

His honours be divine!

And as to mighty Pan with homage bow:

To him, the virgin troop shall tribute bring;
Let him he hail'd like the green-liveried Spring,
Spite of the wintry storms that stain his brow.

The pride, the glowing pageantry of May,
Glides wantonly away:

But January, in his rough-spun vest,

Boasts the full blessings that can never fade, He that gave birth to the illustrious maid, Whose beauties make the British monarch blest!

Could the soft Spring with all her sunny showers,
The frolic nurse of flowers!

Or flaunting Summer, flush'd in ripen'd pride,
Could they produce a finish'd sweet so rare:
Or from his golden stores, a gift so fair,
Say, has the fertile Autumn e'er supply'd?

Henceforward let the hoary month be gay

As the white-hawthorn'd May! The laughing goddess of the Spring disown'd, HER rosy wreath shall on HIS brows appear, Old Janus, as he leads, shall fill the year, And the less fruitful Autumn be dethron'd.

Above the other months supremely blest,
Glad Janus stands confest!

He can behold with retrospective face

The mighty blessings of the year gone by: Where, to connect a monarch's nuptial tie, Assembled ev'ry glory, ev'ry grace!

When he looks forward on the flatt'ring year,

The golden hours appear,

As in the sacred reign of Saturn, fair:

Britain shall prove from this propitious date, Her honours perfect, victories complete, And boast the brightest hopes, a BRITISH HEIR.

The above little poem was written on supposition that her majesty's birth-day was really in the month of January.

AN INSCRIPTION

ON THE HOUSE AT MAVIS-BANK, NEAR EDINBURGH,

SITUATED IN A GROVE.

PARVA domus nemerosa quies!
Sis tu, quoque nostris

Hospitium, laribus, subsidiumque diu!
Flora tuas ornet postes, Pomonaque mensas!
Conferat ut varias fertilis hortus opes!
Et volucres pictæ cingentes voce canora,
Retia sola canent qua sibi tendit amor!

I told my soft wishes; she sweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine!)
"I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd,
But take me, fond shepherd-I'm thine."

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek!
So simple, yet sweet, were her charms!

I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the dear maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if, by yon prattler, the stream,
Reclin'd on her bosom, I sink into sleep,
Her image still softens my dream.

Together we range o'er the slow rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils,
And point out new themes for my Muse.
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The damsel 's of humble descent;
The cottager, PEACE, is well known for her sire,
And shepherds have nam'd her CONTENT.

CORYDON AND PHILLIS.

A PASTORAL.

HER sheep had in clusters crept close by the grove,
To hide from the rigours of day;
And Phillis herself, in a woodbine alcove,
Among the fresh violets lay:

A youngling, it seems, had been stole from its dam, (Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot)

That Corydon might, as he search'd for his lamb, Arrive at this critical spot.

"Hush, hush'd be these birds, what a bawling they keep!" He cry'd, "

you 're too loud on the spray, Don't you see, foolish lark, that the charmer' asleep?

You'll wake her as sure as 'tis day:

How dare that fond butterfly touch the sweet maid!
Her cheek he mistakes for the rose;

I'd pat him to death, if I was not afraid
My boldness would break her repose."

Young Phillis look'd up with a languishing smile, "Kind shepherd," she said, " you mistake;

I laid myself down just to rest me a while,
But trust me, have still been awake:"
The shepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow,
He plac'd himself close by her side,
And manag'd the matter, I cannot tell how,
But yesterday made her his bride.

AN

ELEGY ON A PILE OF RUINS. Aspice murorum moles, præruptaque saxa! Janus Vitalis.

Omnia, tempus edax depascitur, omnia carpit.

Seneca.

In the full prospect yonder hill commands, O'er barren heaths, and cultivated plains; The vestige of an ancient abbey stands,

Close by a ruin'd castle's rude remains.

Half buried, there, lie many a broken bust, And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by Time; And many a cherub, there, descends in dust From the rent roof, and portico sublime.

The rivulets, oft frighted at the sound

Of fragments, tumbling from the tow'rs on high, Plunge to their source in secret caves profound,

Leaving their banks and pebbly bottoms dry.

Where rev'rend shrines in gothic grandeur stood,

The nettle, or the noxious night-shade spreads; And ashlings, wafted from the neighb'ring wood, Through the worn turrets wave their trembling heads.

There Contemplation, to the crowd unknown,
Her attitude compos'd, and aspect sweet!
Sits musing on a monumental stone,

And points to the MEMENTO at her feet.

Soon as sage ev'ning check'd day's sunny pride,
I left the mantling shade in moral mood;
And seated by the maid's sequester'd side,
Sigh'd, as the mould'ring monuments I view'd.