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They rife in vain, ah me! in vain

Are fcatter'd in the wind;
Cynthia does not know the pain
That rankles in my mind.

If fleep perhaps my eye-lids close,
"Tis but to dream of you;
A while I cease to feel my woes,
Nay, think I'm happy too.

I think I prefs with kiffes pure,
Your lovely rofy lips;

And you 're my bride, I think I'm fure,
Till gold the mountain tips.

When wak'd, aghast I look around,

And find my charmer flown;

Then bleeds afresh my galling wound,

While I am left alone.

Take pity then, O gentlest maid!
On thy poor Damon's heart :
Remember what I 've often faid,

'Tis you can cure my smart.

JEMMY DAWSON. A BALLAD; Written about the Time of his Execution, in the Year 1745.

COME liften to my mournful tale,

Ye tender hearts and lovers dear;

Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh,
Nor need you blush to fhed a tear.

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And thou, dear Kitty, peerlefs maid,

Do thou a penfive ear incline;
For thou canft weep at every woe;

And pity every plaint-but mine.
Young Dawson was a gallant boy,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid, she lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damfel came;
And faultlefs was her beauteous form,
And spotlefs was her virgin fame.
But curfe on party's hateful strife,
That led the favour'd youth aftray;
The day the rebel clans appear'd,
O had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their fafh he wore,
And in the fatal drefs was found;
And now he must that death endure,

Which gives the brave the keeneft wound.
How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's fentence reach'd her ear!

For never yet did Alpine fnows

So pale, or yet fo chill appear.

With faultering voice, the weeping faid,
Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart;
Think not thy death shall end our loves,

For thou and I will never part.


Yet might fweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes;
O George, without a prayer for thee,
My orizons should never close.
The gracious prince that gave him life,
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lifp the giver's name.
But though he should be dragg'd in fcorn
To yonder ignominious tree;
He fhall not want one conftant friend
To fhare the cruel fates' decree.

O then her mourning-coach was call'd,
The fledge mov'd flowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her favourite more.
She follow'd him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behefts of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes,
With calm and ftedfaft eye she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly lov'd fo long;
And ftifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly fung.
And fever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was that beauteous breaft,
On which her love-fick head repos'd:

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And ravish'd was that conftant heart,

She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could its King forget,
'Twas true and loyal ftill to her.
Amid thofe unrelenting flames,

She bore this conftant heart to fee;
But when 'twas moulder'd into duft,
Yet, yet, the cry'd, I follow thee.
My death, my death alone can fhew
The pure, the lafting love I bore;
Accept, O heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.

The difmal fcene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearfe retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, fighing forth his name, expir'd.

Though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds, is due;
For feldom fhall fhe hear a tale

So fad, fo tender, yet so true.

A Paftoral B ALL AD, in Four Parts. 1743

"Arbufta humilefque myricæ."




E fhepherds fo chearful and gay,
Whofe flocks never carelessly roam ;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.



Allow me to mufe and to figh,

Nor talk of the change that ye None once was fo watchful as I ;


I have left my dear Phillis behind.

Now I know what it is, to have strove

With the torture of doubt and defire; 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 Phillis farewel.

Since Phillis vouchfaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine :
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
I priz'd every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before;
But now they are past, and I figh;

And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.

But why do I languish in vain ;

Why wander thus penfively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the fimiles of my dear?

They tell me, my favourite maid,

The pride of that valley, is flown;
Alas! where with her I have ftray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.


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