Oh! fend fome chearing ray of light,
And guide me to my love.

Thus, in a fecret friendly fhade,

The penfive Celia mourn'd, While courteous Echo lent her aid,

And figh for figh return'd.

When fudden, Damon's well-known face
Each rifing fear difarms;
He, eager, fprings to her embrace,
She finks into his arms.

ADVICE. By a young Lady.

HEPHERDS, would ye hope to please us,
You must ev'ry humour try!

Sometimes flatter, fometimes teaze us,
Sometimes laugh, and fometimes cry.

Soft denials are but trials

Of the heart we wish to gain; Tho' we're fhy, and feem to fly, If you pursue we fly in vain.

SONG

CXIII.

THE INVITATION.

OME Colin, pride of rural fwains,
O come, and bless thy native plains:
The daifies fpring, the beeches bud,
The fongfters warble in the wood.

Come Colin, hafte, O come away, Your fmiles will make the village gay :

When you return, the vernal breeze
Will wake the buds, and fan the trees.

Oh! come and fee the vi'lets spring, The meadows laugh, the linnets fing: Your eyes our joylefs hearts can cheer, O hafte! and make us happy here.

S

SONG

CXIV.

A FAV'RITE DUET AND CHORUS.

EE the conquering hero comes,

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums,

Sports prepare, the laurel bring,

Songs of triumph to him fing.

See the god-like youth advance,
Breathe the flutes, and lead the dance,
Myrtle wreaths and roses twine,
To deck the hero's brow divine.

THO

my manners are fimple and plain,

HO' drefs and my A rascal I hate, and a knave I difdain; My dealings are juft, and my confcience is clear, And I'm richer than thofe who have thousands a year.

Tho' bent down with age, and for fporting uncouth, I feel no remorfe for the follies of youth;

I ftill tell my tale, and rejoice in my song,

And, my boys, think my age not a moment too long.

Let the courtiers, thofe dealers in grin and grimace, Creep under, dance over, for title or place; Above all the titles that flow from a throne, That of honeft I prize-and that title's my own.

B

SONG

CXVI.

THE SEASON OF LOVE.

RIGHT Sol is return'd, the winter is o'er, He's all-chearing beams do nature restore; The cowflip and daify, the vi'let and rofe,

Each garden, each orchard, does fragrance difclofe : The birds' chearful notes are heard in each grove, All nature confeffes the feason of love.

The nymphs and the shepherds come tripping amain, All haften to join in the fports of the plain; Our rural diverfions are free from all guile, The face that is honeft fecurely can fmile: The heart that's fincere in affection may prove All nature's force in the feafon of love.

O come then, Philander, with Sylvia away, Our friends, that expect us, accuse our delay; Let's hafte to the village, the fports to begin; I'll strive for my fhepherd the garland to win. But fee his approach whom my heart does approve, Who makes ev'ry moment the season of love.

SONG

CXVII.

CHARMS OF LOVELY PEGGY.

NCE more I'll tune the vocal fhell,

O To hills and dales my paffion tell,

A flame which time can never quell,
But burns for thee, my Peggy.

You greater bards your lyre fhould hit ;
For fay, what fubject is more fit,
Than to record the sparkling wit,
And bloom of lovely Peggy?

The fun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-befpangled thorn,
Does not fo much the day adorn
As does my lovely Peggy.
And when in Thetis' lap to reft,
He ftreaks with gold the ruddy weft,
He's not fo beauteous as, undreft,
Appears my lovely Peggy.

Was the array'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon the oaten reed,
To pleafe my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All's happy when he's in my fight;
But when the's gone, 'tis endless night,
All's dark without my Peggy.

When Zephyr on the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
They do not half the sweets disclose,
As does my lovely Peggy.

I ftole a kifs the other day,

And (truft me) nought but truth I fay,
The fragrance of the blooming May,
Was not fo fweet as Peggy.

While bees from flow'r to flow'r do rove,

And linnets warble thro' the

grove,

Or ftately fwans the waters love,

So long fhall I love Peggy.

And when death lifts his pointed dart
To ftrike the blow that rends my heart,
My words fhall be, when I depart,
Adieu! my lovely Peggy.

I'

SONG

CXVIII.

FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

'VE feen the fmiling of Fortune beguiling, I've felt all its favours, and found its decay; Sweet was its bleffing, kind its careffing,

But now 'tis fled,—fled far away.

I've seen the forest adorned the foremost,

With flowers of the faireft, moft pleasant and gay; Sae bonny was their blooming, their scent the air perfuming,

But now they are wither'd and weeded away.

I've seen the morning with gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempeft ftorming before the mid day.
I've feen Tweed's filver ftreams fhining in funny beams,
Grow drumly and dark as he roll'd on his way.

O fickle Fortune! why this cruel fporting?
O why still perplex us, poor fons of a day?
Nae mair your fmiles can chear me, nae mair your
frowns can fear me,

For the flowers of the foreft are withered away.

Thro' mazy windings o'er the plain,

I'll in fome lonely cave refide,

And ever mourn my faithful fwain. Flower of the foreft was my love, Soft as the fighing fummer's gale, Gentle and conftant as the dove, Blooming as rofes in the vale.