Yet neither sighs nor anxious care
Nor tuneful pathos moves the fair.
Though doom'd to love her whilst I live,
To sigh, to languish, and to grieve;
Though doom'd to waft her fair renown
O'er Cambria's hills-I lie alone ;-
In broken dreams I seek in vain
To clasp the soother of my pain."
Next hear the reverend priest begin :-
"As you'd escape a mortal sin,
Your past transgressions thus retrieve-
Attend the good advice I give!
To love a maid, however fair,
Hear me! henceforth you must forbear,
This life is not a solace given,
'Tis a dark passage up to heaven;
Then root out pleasures from the flesh,
And in the soul they'll spring afresh.
And wouldst thou save thy spotted soul,
Nor let old Satan gulp thee whole,
Inure thy hand to pious deeds-
Go-pay thy tithes and tell thy beads;
No more indulge such idle ways—
Forego thy love, and burn thy lays.
To heaven we trip not with an air,
Religion's work is more severe.
Your worldly strains, oh bards! abound
With jests profane, and empty sound:
The heedless youth ye lead astray,
And lure them down the crooked way,
Till, at the last, ye give at once
Both body and soul to Davy Jones."
When the good priest, in formal fashion,
Had closed the solemn peroration,
I mused awhile upon his preachment,
Then to each tittle of impeachment
I gave for answer-" By your leave,
Most humbly, doctor, I conceive,
The master whom we all obey
Is not so strict as elders say:
On musty parchment though ye pore,
Ye cannot thus our senses bore.
"To love three things, you needs must know,
Sure we're not damn'd for doing so!
The world's resolved, and so am I-
A maid-sound health-a cloudless sky.
In all creation's ample round,
A maid's the fairest flower that's found:
'Twas love and maids produced us all,
And gave us what we mothers call:
Good reason then, we surely find,
For the sweet love of woman kind.
"From heaven if pleasure must proceed,
And sadness from-the place you dread;
Whilst sick and well, whilst old and young,
Experience pleasure in a song;
Acknowledge 'tis an equal thing
For you to preach and me to sing :
And let me join the tuneful band,
Whilst you extend the craving hand.
E'en pious David did compose
In verse-who made the psalter, prove?
"You live not on a single dish;
Now beef's preferr'd, and now 'tis fish;
Just so, for all things there's a time,
For preaching now, anon for rhyme.
In every banquet, far and near,
We've songs to please the female ear;
And preaching too, in sacred dome,
To fit us for a time to come.
"Regaling with his bards, a sage,
Whose name is spared by envious age,
Full well observed-his words I quote,
And hope you'll find them worth your note—
The cheerful face had many friends,
But woe the sullen churl attends.'
Some think it best to shave their crown,
I love good cheer as well, I own.
"My noble art's attain'd by few, But, doctor, is it so with you ?
Visions and proverbs you impart,
Which every dunce has got by heart:
From hence you'll gather, if you please,
An ode is not the soul's disease.
"If e'er the world should heed your tongue
As much as Gwilym's sprightly song,—
Should Cambria's damsels love so well
The sober tale that you can tell,-
I'd ape the sanctimonious train,
And tune no more the raptured strain.”
SONGS AND WELSH MELODIES.
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