Whenever by yon barley-mow I pass, Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass. 75 I pitch'd the sheaves (oh! could I do so now) Which she in rows pil'd on the growing mow. There every deal my heart by love was gain'd, There the sweet kiss my courtship has explain'd: Ah! Blouzelind! that mow I ne'er shall see, 81 But thy memorial will revive in me. 85 Lament, ye fields! and rueful symptoms show, Ver. 84.] Pro molli viola, pro purpureo narcisso Virg. Ver. 90.] Et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen. Quale sopor féssis in gramine: quale per æstum 90 95 Nos tamen hæc quocumque modo tibi nostra vicissim Dicemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad astra. Virg. Ver. 96.] Κρέσσον μελπομένω τευ ἀκουέμεν ἢ μέλι λείχεν. Theoc. Yet Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay; When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell Before the drooping flock toll'd forth her knell; 100 The solemn death-watch click'd the hour she died, And shrilling crickets in the chimney cried; And with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate; The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred, 105 Dropp'd on the plains that fatal instant dead; Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spied, Which erst I saw when Goody Dobson died. How shall I, void of tears, her death relate? While on her darling's bed her mother sate, 110 These words the dying Blouzelinda spoke, And of the dead let none the will revoke : 115 'Mother (quoth she) let not the poultry need; And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed ; Be these my sister's care-and every morn Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn; The sickly calf that's hous'd, be sure to tend, Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend. Yet ere I die-see, Mother, yonder shelf, 120 My new straw hat that's trimly lin❜d with green 125 near Follow'd, with wistful look, the damsel's bier. 130 155 After the good man warn'd us from his text, That none could tell whose turn would be the next, He said that Heaven would take her soul, no doubt, And spoke the hour-glass in her praise-quite out. To her sweet memory flowery garlands strung, O'er her now empty seat aloft were hung; With wicker rods we fenc'd her tomb around, 145 To ward from man and beast the hallow'd ground, Lest her new grave the parson's cattle raze; For both his horse and cow the church-yard graze. Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, To drink new cider mull'd, with ginger warm; 150 For Gaffer Treadwell told us, by the bye, Excessive sorrow is exceeding dry. While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain, 160 SATURDAY· OR, THE FLIGHTS. BOWZYBEUS. SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare; Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care; While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. 5 Ver. 153.] Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, 'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil; 15 Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout, reed; That Bowzybeus who with jocund tongue, Ah! Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong! Ver. 22.] Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant. 25 30 Virg. |