It was, I weene, a comelie sight, He was my jo and hearts delight, Oh! sike twa charming een he had, But costly silken clothes; He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day My Gilderoy and I were born, We scant were seven years beforn, To think upon the bridal day, For Gilderoy that luve of mine, Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime, 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 Oh! that he still had been content, But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent, And he in many a venturous deed, His courage bauld wad try; And now this gars inine heart to bleed, And when of me his leave he tuik, I gave tull him a parting luik, God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart, My heart is rent sith we maun part, My handsome Gilderoy." My Gilderoy baith far and near, And bauldly bare away the gear, Nane eir durst meet him man to man, At length wi' numbers he was tane, My winsome Gilderoy. Wae worth the loun that made the laws, To hang a man for gear, To 'reave of life for ox or ass, For sheep, or horse, or mare: Had not their laws been made sae strick, I neir had lost my joy, Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek, For my dear Gilderoy. Giff Gilderoy had done amisse, Ah! what sair cruelty is this, 45 50 To hang the flower o' Scottish land, Sae sweet and fair a boy; Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were, They bound him mickle strong, Tull Edenburrow they led him thair, They hung him high aboon the rest, Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best, Thus having yielded up his breath, I bare his corpse away, 80 85 90 Wi' tears, that trickled for his death, And siker in a grave sae deep, I laid the dear-lued boy, And now for evir maun I weep, 95 XIII. WINIFREDA. THIS beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine Muses, was, I believe, first printed in a volume of "Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726," 8vo. It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a translation "from the ancient British language." AWAY; let nought to love displeasing, Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, With pompous titles grace our blood; Our name, while virtue thus we tender, What though from fortune's lavish bounty And be content without excess. Still shall each returning season And that's the only life to live. Through youth and age in love excelling, How should I love the pretty creatures, While round my knees they fondly clung; And when with envy time transported, 5 10 15 20 25 30 XIV. THE WITCH OF WOKEY -was published in a small collection of poems, intitled, "Euthemia, or the Power of Harmony," &c. 1756, written, in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who never allowed them to be published, and withheld his name till it could no longer be concealed. The following copy was furnished by the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose, and for which the Author's indulgence was intreated. In this Edition it was intended to reprint the Author's own original copy; but, as that may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Collection, Vol. i, 1783, p. 161, it was thought the Reader of Taste would wish to have the variations preserved; they are therefore still retained here, which it is hoped the worthy Author will excuse with his wonted liberality. Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Thro' a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light of torches. It goes winding a great way under ground, is crost by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock many of these are evident petrifactions; which, on account of their singular forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem. IN aunciente days tradition showes Deep in the dreary dismall cell, |