The scatter'd clouds are fled at last,
The rain is gone, the winter past;
The lovely vernal flowers appear,
- The warbling choir enchants the ear,

Now with sweetly pensive moan,
Coos the turtle dove alone.

Chapter LI. Fifty-first

EMMA.

YE shepherds! she's fair as the light,
The critic no blemish can find:
While all the soft VIRTUES unite,
And glow in her innocent mind.

Her accents are fitted to please,
Her manners engagingly free;
Her temper is ever at ease,

And calm as an angel can be.

Her presence all sorrow removes,
She enraptures the wit and the clown;
Her heart is as mild as the dove's
Her hand is as soft as its down.

Yon lily, which graces the field,
And throws its perfume on the gale,
In fairness and fragrance must yield,
To EMMA, the pride of the vale.

She's pleasant as yonder cool rill,

To trav'ller's who faint on the way: She's sweet as the rose on the hill, When it opens its bosom to day,

I ask not for wealth, nor for power!
Kind heaven! I these can resign ;
But hasten, O hasten, the hour,

When EMMA shall deign to be mine.

Chapter LII. Fifty-second.

A Pastoral Ballad, in 4 Parts.

1.-ABSENCE..

gay,

SHENSTONE.

YE shepherds so cheerful and
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
O call the poor wanderers home.
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 Phillis behind.
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 Phillis farewell.

Since Phillis vouchsaf'd me a look,
I never once dream'd 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 pass'd, and I sigh,

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

But why do I languish in vain?

Why wander thus pensively here?
O, 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 forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought-that it might not be so-
"Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gaz'd as I slowly withdrew;

My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.

The pilgrim that journies all day
To visit some far distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away,

Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus, widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,

And my solace wherever I go.

2-HOPE.

My banks they are furnish'd with bees;
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains, all border'd with moss, Where the hare-bells and violets grow.

Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-brier twines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year
More charms than my cattle unfold:
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear.
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,

But I hasted and planted it there.

O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,

To prune the wild branches away.

From the plains, from the woodlands, and groves
What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From the thickets of roses that blow ;
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,

As

-she may not be fond to resign.

I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed'; But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For be ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young;
And I lov'd her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue,

I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to a dove:
That it ever attended the bold,

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.

Can a bosom so gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs? Will a nymph that is fond of the plain These plains and this valley despise ? Dear regions of silence and shade!

Soft scenes of contentment and ease! Where I could have pleasingly stray'd, If aught, in her absence, could please. But where does my Philida stray?

And where are her grots and her bowers

Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the vallies as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

3.-SOLICITUDE.

?

;

WHY will you my passion reprove
Why term it a folly to grieve!
Ere I shew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She's every way pleasing to me.
you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays !
I could lay down my life for the swain

0

That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the town Come trooping and listen the while ; Nay, on him let not Philida frown; -But I cannot allow her to smile. For when Paridel tries in the dance Any favour with Phillis to find, O how, with one trivial glance. Might she ruin the peace of my In ringlets he dresses his hair,

mind

And his crook is bestudded around;
And his pipe-O may Phillis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound !

"Tis his with mock passion to glow;
'Tis his in smooth tails to unfold,
"How her face is as bright as the snow,
"And her bosom, be sure is as cold;
"How the nightingales labour the strain,
"With the notes of his charmer to vie ;