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TO

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

THESE LITTLE VOLUMES

ARE

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

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The glories of our blood and state
'The groves, the plains
The heavy hours are almost pass'd
The kiss, dear maid I thy lip has left
The larks awake the drowsy morn
The lovely Delia smiles again
The pride of every grove I chose
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower
The shape alone let others prize
The silver moon's enamour'd beam
The sun was sunk beneath the hill
The streams that wind amid the hills
The world was hush'd and nature lay
The wretch condemn'd with life to part
Think not my love when secret grief
Thou canst not boast of fortune's store
Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove
Though cruel you seem to my pain
Though I am young and cannot tell
Though time has not wreathed
Thou art lovelier than the coming
Thyrsis, unjustly you complain
'Tis evening, my sweet
'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood
"Tis not your saying that you love
'Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes
To all you ladies now at land
To be gazing on those charms
To charming Celia's arms I flew
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb
To Fanny fair could I impart
To the brook and the willow that heard him complain
'Twas on a summer's evening
'Twas when the seas were roaring
Turn, lovely Gwen, be good and kind

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Upbraid me not, capricious fair

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Vainly now ye strive to charm me
Vulcan contrive me such a cap

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We all to conquering beauty bow
We twa hae fish'd the Kale sae clear
Welcome, welcome, do I sing
What is war and all its joys
What just excuse had aged Time
What state of life can be so blest
Whence comes my love? O heart disclose
When daisies pied, and violets blue
When, dearest beauty, thou shalt pay
When Delia on the plain appears
When first, in all thy youthful charms
When first I saw thee graceful move
When first upon your tender cheek
When forc'd to quit his native land
When icicles hang by the wall
When innocence and beauty meet
When love with unconfined wings
When lovely woman stoops to folly
When Phæbus heard Ianthe sing
When Phillis watch'd her harmless sheep
When sable night, each drooping plant restoring
When thy beauty appears
Wherever I am, and whatever I do
Where is the sea I languish here
While I listen to thy voice
While the lover is thinking
Whilst on those lovely looks I gaze
Whilst others proclaim
Who is Silvia ? what is she
Why do you dwell so long in clouds
Why does the morn in blushes rise
Why fair maid in every feature
Why should you swear I am forsworn
Why so pale and wan, fond lover ?
Why sought you not the silent bower
Why we love, and why we hate
Willy found Malvina mourning
Winter, thy cruelty extend
With an honest old friend and a merry old song
Woodmen, shepherds, come away
Wrong not sweet mistress of my heart

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LONDON : PRINTED BY W. NICOL, 51, PALL MALL.

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