O weep not, Lady, weep not fo; Let not vain forrow rive thy heart, O do not, do not, holy Friar, And now, alas! for thy fad lofs, Weep no more, Lady, weep no more, Thy forrow is in vain : For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again. Our joys as winged dreams do fly, O fay not fo, thou holy Friar, pray thee fay not fo : For fince my true-love dy'd for me, 'Tis meet my tears fhould flow. And will he ne'er come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave His cheek was redder than the rofe; Sigh no more, Lady, figh no more, Hadft thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee fad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found, Since fummer trees were leafy. Now fay not fo, thou holy Friar, My love he has the trueft heart: O he was ever true! And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, Then farewel home; for evermore But firft upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kifs the green-grafs turf, That wraps his breathless clay. Yet ftay, fair Lady, reft a while `Beneath this cloyfter wall: See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall. O ftay me not, thou holy Friar! No drizzly rain that falls on me Yet ftay, fair Lady, turn again, Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, These holy weeds I fought; And here amid thefe lonely walls But haply, for my year of grace Might I ftill-hope to win thy love, Now farewel grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart: For fince I have found thee, lovely youth, A TAL E. BY WILLIAM MELMOTH, ES 2. ERE Saturn's fons were yet difgrac'd, And heathen gods were all the taste, To take an air on Ida's hill. It chanc'd, as once with ferious ken He paus'd-when from amidst the sky, With one united zeal arofe, The triple tyrants to oppose. That inftant from the realms of day, And enter'd with the evening star. Hither, difguis'd, their fteps they bend, The dame who own'd, adorn'd the place; In fprightly fenfe and polish'd air, What maid with Mira might compare? M |