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To William Churne of Staffordshire,

Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true;
To William all give audience,
And pray yee for his noddle;
For all the fairies evidence,
Were lost, if it were addle.

$126. Unfading Beauty.

This little beautiful Sonnet is reprinted from a small volume of "Poems by THOMAS CAREW,

Twas then, by the care of the mountain reco
A Hermit his nightly complaint the be
Tho' mournful his numbers, his soul wais
sign'd;

He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a n
Ah! why, thus abandon'd to darknes, u

woe,

Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows in For spring shall return, and a lover be And thy bosom no trace of misfortunes Yet, if Pity inspire thee, O cease not ti Mourn, sweetest companion! m thee to mourn:

“Esq. one of the gentlemen of the privie-cham-O
"ber, and sewer in ordinary to his majesty
"Charles I. Lond. 1640." This elegant, and
almost forgotten writer, whose Poems have been
deservedly revived, died in the prime of his age,
in 1683.

In the original follows a third stanza, which, not
being of general application, nor of equal merit,
I have ventured to omit.

HEE that loves a rosie cheeke,
Or corall lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke
Fuell to maintaine his fires;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfaste mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires;
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.

$127. Song. The Shy-Lark. SHENSTONE.
Go, tuneful bird, that gladd'st the skies,

Daphne's window speed thy way;
And there on quiv'ring pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
And if she deign thy notes to hear,

And if she praise thy matin song,
Tell her, the sounds that sooth her ear
To Damon's native plains belong.
Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,

The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely, partial maid,
What are his notes compar'd with thine?
Then bid her treat yon witless beau

And all his flaunting race with scorn;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who sings her praise, and sings forlorn.

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sooth him whose pleasures, like the Full quickly they pass-but they

' turn!

Now gliding remote on the verge of th
The moon, half extinct, a dim creser

' plays ;

But lately I mark'd, when majestic c
She shone, and the planets were dis

blaze.

Roll on then, fair orb, and with glad
The path that conducts thee to

again:

But man's faded glory no change sha” -
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so
Tis night, and the landscape is lovely
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I

⚫ for you;

For morn is approaching, your cham • Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and: ' with dew.

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I = 'Kind Nature the embrio-blossomst 'But when shall spring visit the moulte O when shall it dawn on the ni: grave?'

$129. A Pastoral Ballad. In For SHEL

I. ABSENCE.

YE shepherds so cheerful and gay,

Whose flocks never careles y te Should Corydon's happen to stray, O call the poor wanderers home. Allow me to muse and to sigh,

Nor talk of the change that ye fad. None, once, was so watchful as 1:

-I have left my dear Phillis behin Now I know what it is to have stron

With the torture of doubt and des What it is to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and adu
Ah, lead forth my flock in the mom,
And the damps of each evening rege
Alas! I am faint and forlorn:

-I have bade my dear Phillis faret
Since Phillis vouchsaf'd me a look,
I never once dream'd of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crack
If I knew of a kid that was mine?

riz'd every hour thar went by, . Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; it now they are pass'd, and I sigh, And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. t why do I languish in vain? Why wander thus pensively here? why did I come from the plain, Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? ey tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley is flown! s! where with her I have stray'd, could wander with pleasure, alone. en forc'd the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart!

I thought-but it might not be sowas with pain that she saw me depart. gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew; ly path I could hardly discern; weetly she bade me adieu, thought that she bade me return. pilgrim that journies all day visit some far distant shrine, : bear but a relique away happy, nor heard to repine. 5, widely remov'd from the fair, here my vows, my devotion, I owe, Hope is the relique I bear, id my solace wherever I go.

11. НОРЕ.

banks they are furnish'd with bees, hose murmur invites one to sleep; grottes are shaded with trees,

id my hills are white over with sheep. fom have met with a loss,

tch health do my fountains bestow; fountains, all border'd with moss, here the hare-bells and violets grow. a pine in my grove is there seen, t with tendrils of woodbine is bound; a beech's more beautiful green, it a sweet-brier twines it around. my fields in the prime of the year ore charms than my cattle unfold : a brook that is limpid and clear, at it glitters with fishes of gold. would think she might like to retire > the bow'r I have labour'd to rear; a shrub that I heard her admire, it I hasted and planted it there. w sudden the jessamine strove ith the lilac to render it gay! ady it calls for my love,

› prune the wild branches away. the plains, from the woodlands, groves,

bat strains of wild melody flow! -the nightingales warbie their loves -om thickets of roses that blow !

when her bright form shall appear, ach bird shall harmoniously join concert so soft and so clear, sshe may not be fond to resign.

and!

I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young;
And I lov'd her the inore when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to a dove:
That it ever attended the bold,

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.
Can a bosom so gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain
These plains and this valley despise?
Dear regions of silence and shade!

Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
But where does my Phillida stray?

And where are her grots and her bowers?
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,

And the face of the vallies as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

III. SOLICITUDE.
WHY will you my passion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
Ere I shew you the charmis of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She's every way pleasing to ine.
O you that have been of her train,

Come and join in my amorous lays!
I could lay down my life for the swain

That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the tymphs of the town Come trooping, and listen the while; Nay, on him let not Phillida frown; -But I cannot allow her to smile. Fer when Paridel tries in the dance Any favour with Phillis to find, O how, with one trivial glance, Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringiets he dresses his hair,

And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe may Phillis beware Of a magic there is in the sound!

Tis his with mock passion to glow;

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, "How her face is as bright as the snow, "And her bosom, be sure, is as cold; 3P2

How

"How the nightingales labour the strain,
"With the notes of his charmer to vie;
"How they vary their accents in vain,
"Repine at hier triumphs, and die."
To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at Phillis's fect.

O Phillis," he whispers, "more fair, "More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r! "What are pinks, in a morn, to compare? "What is eglantine after a shower? "Then the lily no longer is white; "Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom; "Then the violets die with despite, "And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
Yet I never should envy the song,

Were not Phillis to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phillis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phillis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
Yet may she beware of his art,

Or sure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.
YE shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no inore heed of my sleep:
They have nothing to do but to stray,
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my passion begun;
She smild-and I could not but love;
She is faithless-and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;

Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire:

It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile!
She is faithless, and I am undone;

Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let Reason instruct you to shan

What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair and how fickle they be. Alas! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes, When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose? Yet time may diminish the paini:

The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure, in vain, In time may have comtort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's themt.
High transports are shewn to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own
Fate never bestow'd such delight,

'As I with my Phillis had known.
O ve woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chate,
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound thro' the gr

With the same sad complaint it begar
How she smil'd, and I could not but le
Was faithless, and I am undone!

$130. Phabe. A Pastoral. B

My time, O ye Muses! was hapnil

When Phoebe went with me w

went:

Ten thousand soft pleasures I felt in m
Sure never fond shepherd like Colia va
But now she is gone, and has left me
What a marvellous change on a suda
When things were as fine as could p
I thought it was spring; but alas, it

The fountain that wont to run swe
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbie
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phabe
It was pleasant to look at, 'twas mus
But now she is absent, I walk by its
And, still as it murmurs, do nothing
Must you be so cheerful, whilst I go
Peace there with your bubbling, ani
complain.

My dog, I was ever well pleased t Come wagging his tail to my fair one And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my Come hither, poor fellow!" andhead:

But now, when he's fawning, I,withes
Cry, “Sirrah!" and give him a blow «
crook :

And I'll give him another; for why s
Tray

Be dull as his master, when Phabe

Sweet music went with us both 2:

thro',

The lark, linnet, throstle, and night
Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by
And chirp went the grasshopper und
But now she is absent, tho' sull the
The woods are but lonely, the me
Her voice in the concert, as now
Gives every thing else its agreeable

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Will no pitying power that hears m Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pai To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy pa But what swain is so silly to live with

Deity, bid the dear nymph to return;
ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
! what shall I do? I shall die with despair:
e heed, all ye swains, how ye love one so fair.

§ 181. A Pastoral Ballad. Rowe.
ESPAIRING beside a clear stream,
A shepherd forsaken was laid;
1, while a false nymph was his theme,
willow supported his head.
wind that blew over the plain
o his sighs with a sigh did reply;
the brook, in return to his pain,
an mournfally murmuring by.
! silly stain that I was!
Chus sadly complaining he cried ;)
n first I beheld that fair face,
were better by far I had died.
talk'd, and I bless'd her dear tongue;
Then she smil'd, it was pleasure too great;
en'd, and cried, when she sung,
as nightingale ever so sweet!
foolish was I to believe

c could dote on so lowly a clown,
at her fond heart would not grieve
forsake the fine folk of the town!
hink that a beauty so gay

kind and so constant would prove;
o clad, like our maidens, in grey,
live in a cottage on love!

it though I have skill to complain,
10' the Muses my temples have crown'd;
u tho', when they hear my soft strain,
e virgins sit weeping around;
Colin! thy hopes are in vain,
by pipe and thy laurel resign;
fair one inclines to a swain
'hose music is sweeter than thine.
rou, my companions so dear,
'ho sorrow to see me betray'd,
tever I suffer, forbear,

orbear to accuse the false maid.

thro' the wide world I should range, is in vain from my fortune to fly; as hers to be false, and to change; is mine to be constant--and die. while my hard fate I sustain, 1 her breast any pity is found; her come, with the nymphs of the plain, nd see me laid low in the ground: list humble boon that I crave

, to shade me with cypress and yew; 1, when she looks down on my grave, et her own that her shepherd was true. n to her new love let her go, and duck her in golden array; finest at ev'ry fine show, and frolic it all the long day:

ite Colin, forgotten and gone, No more shall be talk'd of or seen, Tess when, beneath the pale moon, flis ghost shall glide over the green.

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'N Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
When midnight Fairies daune'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Tho' badly shap'd he been.

His mountain back mote well be said
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above;

Yet, spite of a'l that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dar'd to love.
He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Could ladies look within;
But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.
Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion pred along
All in the moony light;
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort,
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd,
Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour town:
With weary steps he quits the shades,
Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads,

And drops his limbs adown.
But scant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,

A trembling rocks the ground:
And, well I wcea to count aright,
At once an hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.
Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approachen near,
And now the sounds increase:
And, from the corner where he lay,
He sees a train, profusely gay,

Come prankling o'er the place.
Bat (trust me, gentles!) never yet
Was dight a masquing half so neat,

Or half so rich, before;
The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.
Now, whilst he gaz'd, a gallant, drest
In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awful accent cried:
What mortal, of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here presun'd to hide?"

At this the swain, whose vent'rous soil
No fears of magic art controul,

Advanc'd in open sight;

Nor have I cause of dread," he said,
Who view, by no presumption led,
Your revels of the night.

Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,
Which made my steps unweeting tove
Amid the nightly dew."

3 P3

"Tis

"Tis well," the zallant cries again,
"We fares never injure men

Who dare to tell as true.
Exalt thy love-lejected neart;
Be mine the task, onere we part,

To make thee grief resta

Now take the pleasure of tay charnce;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce,

Be little Mable tuite.”

He spoke, and, all a sudden, there
Light music floats in wanton air;

The Monarch leads the Queen:
The rest their faire partners found:
And Mable trimly tipt the ground
With Edwin of the Green.
The dancing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made

As heart and lip desire:
Withouten hands the dishes flv,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.
But now to please the faire king,
Fuil ev'ry dell they laugh and sing,
And antic feits devise;
Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape
In Edwin's wond'ring eyes.
Till one, at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids by night,

Has bent him up aloof;
And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth be hung,
To sprawl upneath the roof.

From thence," Reverse my charm," he cries, "And let it fair now suffice

The gambo. has been shown.” But Oberon answers, with a smile, "Cortent thee, Edwin, for a while,

The vantage is thine own.--
Here ended all the phantom play;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;
The whirling wind, that bore the crowd,
Has c'app'a the door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.
Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at case the tapers die;

Per Edwin falls to floor:
Forlorn his state, and dark tile place,
Was never wight in such a case

Thro' all the land before!
But, soon as dan Apollo ruse,
Full toy creature home he goes!

He feels his back the less;
His honest tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want success:
With lusty livelyhed he taiks,
He seems a-duncing as he walks;
His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Earth sees the youth
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Without a bunch behind!

The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,
(The youth of Edith erst approv'd)

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Tay cause to come we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fol; And fairies, since a lye you tell,

Are free to work thee woe." Then Wai, who bears the wispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The captive upward fiung: There, like a tortoise in a shop, He denied from the chamber top,

Where walom Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they irisk it o'er the place,

They sit, they drink, nd eat; The time with feic mirch begutie. And poor Sir Topaz bangs the wild, Tal all the rout retreat. By this the stars began to wirk, They shriek, they fly, the tapers N, And down rope ile kabu For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bend a g-" Beyond the length of right. Chill, dars, alone, adrced he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dele was o't: But wot ye well his harder lot: His seely back the bunch had got Which Edwin lost afore. This tale a Sybil nurse ared; She softly stroak'd my youngling hea And, when the tale was dure: "Thus some are born, my son," she? With base impediments, to rise; And some are born with noce. But virtue can itself advance To what the fav'rite fools of chance By fortune scem'd design'd; Virtue can gain the odds of fate, And from itself shake off the weight

Upon the unworthy mind.”

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