SONG. UNLESS with my Amanda bless'd, In vain the birds around me sing; SONG. FOR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove And when we meet a mutual heart, Bid us sigh on from day to day, But busy, busy still art thou, A MS. copy of this song, in Lord Buchan's collection, concluded thus: For pomp, and noise, and senseless show, To make us Nature's joys forego, Beneath a gay dominion groan, And put the golden fetters on! For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, Make but the dear Amanda mine. SONG. O NIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove, O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale, to me ! 'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate: I love a maid who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate; Inhuman Fortune keeps her from my arms. You, happy birds! by Nature's simple laws Lead your soft lives, sustain'd by Nature's fare; You dwell wherever roving fancy draws, And love and song is all your pleasing care: But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride, And hence, in vain, I languish for my bride! 173 SONG. O THOU, whose tender serious eyes The pensive shadows of the grove ; O mix their bounteous beams with mine, Ah! 'tis too much! I cannot bear At once so soft, so keen a ray: In pity then, my lovely fair, O turn those killing eyes away! But what avails it to conceal One charm, where nought but charms I see? Their lustre then again reveal, And let me, Myra, die of thee! TO THE REV. MR. MURDOCH, RECTOR OF STRADDISHALL, IN SUFFOLK. 1738. THUS safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall: Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all; No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife; Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life. Then keep each passion down, however dear; Trust me, the tender are the most severe. Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease, TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES. WHILE Secret-leaguing nations frown around, A gleam of joy, gay-flushing every grace, Rejoicing, zealous, o'er thy rising race: Straight her rekindling eyes resume their fire, The Virtues smile, the Muses tune the lyre. But more enchanting than the Muse's song, United Britons thy dear offspring hail : The city triumphs through her glowing throng, The shepherd tells his transport to the dale; The sons of roughest toil forget their pain, And the glad sailor cheers the midnight main. Can aught from fair Augusta's gentle blood, And thine, thou friend of liberty! be born; Can aught save what is lovely, generous, good; What will, at once, defend us, and adorn? From thence prophetic joy new Edwards eyes, New Henrys, Annas, and Elizas rise. May Fate my fond devoted days extend, To sing the promised glories of thy reign! What though, by years depress'd, my Muse might bend; My heart will teach her still a nobler strain: How, with recover'd Britain, will she soar, When France insults, and Spain shall rob no more! THE HAPPY MAN. pours HE's not the happy man, to whom is given |