Silly heart," I cry'd, "fie! What a flutter is here! | To the church then let's hasten, our transports to Young Damon designs you no ill; 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. When the Sun blazes fierce, to the sycamore shade YOUNG Colin once courted Myrtilla the prude, 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, There's something so sweet in the bustle it makes, Fatigu'd with her folly, his suit he gave o'er, The shepherd got nothing but frowns and disdain. 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; She dally'd no longer-but yielded her heart. 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, I held up my head, and I'll tell you for what, 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, I hate her so much, that, to kill her with spleen, A PASTORAL HYMN TO JANUS. Floriferi colles, dulces mihi sæpe recessus 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; The pride, the glowing pageantry of May, 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, Or flaunting Summer, flush'd in ripen'd pride, 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, 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! Hospitium, laribus, subsidiumque diu! I told my soft wishes; she sweetly reply'd, Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek! I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek, Together we range o'er the slow rising hills, Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils, CORYDON AND PHILLIS. A PASTORAL. HER sheep had in clusters crept close by the grove, 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! I'd pat him to death, if I was not afraid 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, 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, And points to the MEMENTO at her feet. Soon as sage ev'ning check'd day's sunny pride, |