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With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar ; A thousand ways in wanton rings they run, Hearen shield their short-lived pastimes, I
implore ! For well may Freedom erst so dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladsome than the
Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive
trade, And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest
flowers ; For when my bones in grass-green sods are
laid, For never may ye taste more careless hours In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers. O vain to seek delight in earthly thing! But most in courts where proud Ambition
towers ; Deluded wight! who weens fair Peace can
spring Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of
king. See in each sprite some various bent
appear! These rudely carol most incondite lay; Those sauntering on the green, with jocund
leer Salute the stranger passing on his way; Some builden fragile tenements of clay; Some to the standing lake their courses
bend, With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to
Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend, In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite
to spend. Here, as each season yields a different
store, Each season's stores in order rangèd
Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam; Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers homo. Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find; None once was so watchful as I ;
I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er, Galling full sore the unmoney'd wight, are
seen ; And goose-b’rie clad in livery red or green ; And here of lovely dye, the catherine pear, Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween :
O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hope
less care ! See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies
tied, Scattering like blooming maid their glances
round, With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside ; And must be bought, though penury
betide. The plum all azure and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names the inventive city
own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's
Now I know what it is, to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire ; What it is to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire. Ah ! lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each evening repel; Alas! I am faint and forlorn :
- I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. Since Phyllis vouchsafed me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine :
If I knew of a kid that was mine!
Beyond all that had pleased me before ; But now they are past, and I sigh ;
And I grieve that I prized them no more. But why do I languish in vain ;
Why wander thus pensively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone. When forced the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart ! Yet I thought—but it might not be som
'Twas with pain that she saw mo depart. She gazed, as I slowly withdrew ;
My path I could hardly discern; So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode;
Around the room I jovial rode :
Why did not these enjoyments last;
While innocence allow'd to waste !
Shenstone. Born 1714, Died 1763.
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;
Just opening to the view.
Consumed her early prime ;
She died before her time.
Come from her midnight grave :
Thy love refused to save.
When injured ghosts complain;
To haunt the faithless swain. Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath! And give me back my maiden-vow,
And give me back my troth. Why did you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep ? Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep ?
And yet that face forsake?
Yet leave that heart to break ?
896.-WRITTEN AT AN INN AT
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Than the low cot or humble inn. 'Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin Converts dull port to bright champagne :
Such freedom crowns it at an inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from falsehood's specious grin; Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And choose my lodgings at an inn. Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
Which lackeys else might hope to win ; It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me freedom at an inn. Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
Shenstone.-Born 1714, Died 1763.
Why did you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale ?
Believe the flattering tale?
Those lips no longer red :
And every charm is fled.
This winding-sheet I wear :
Till that last morn appear.
A long and last adieu !
Who died for love of you.
With beams of rosy red :
And raving left his bed.
Where Margaret's body lay ;
That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he wept full sore ;
And word spake never more !
897.-WILLIAM AND MARGARET. 'Twas at the silent solemn hour,
When night and morning meet; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at Williain's feet.
Her face was like an April morn
Clad in a wintry cloud ;
That held her sable shroud.
When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.