doy and

No longer drest in silken sheen,
No longer deckt in jewels rare,
Say canst thou quit each courtly scene,"
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Oh NANCY! when thou 'rt far away,

"

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say canst thou face the parching ray,

Nor shrink before the wintry wind? O can that soft and gentle mien

Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Oh NANCY! canst thou love so true

Through perils keen with me to go, And, when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of woe? Say should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor wistful those gay scenes recall Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?

And

And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear;
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

In vain, fond youth, thy tears give o'er;
What more, alas! can FLAVIA do?
Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore:
All are not happy that are true.

But, if revenge can ease thy pain,

I'll soothe the ills I cannot cure, Tell that I drag a hopeless chain, And all that I inflict, endure.

Suppress those sighs, and weep no more;
Should heaven and earth with thee combine,
'T were all in vain; since any pow'r,
To crown thy love, must alter mine.

THE

THE wretch O let me never know

Who turns from Pity's tearful eye; Who melts not at the dirge of woe, But bids the soul renew its sigh!

O say not, with the voice of scorn,
The lilies of thy neck are fled,
Thine eyes their vanish'd radiance mourn,
The roses of thy cheek are dead,

Too cruel youth! with tears I own
The rose and lily's sad decay ;
And sorrowing wish, for thee alone,
Their transient bloom a longer day,

Yet, tho' thine eyes no longer trace
The healthful blush of former charms,
Remember that each luckless grace,
O COLIN, faded in thy arms.

WOLCOTT,

THE PARTING.

LAURA, thy sighs must now no more
My faltering step detain,

Nor dare I hang thy sorrows o'er,
Nor clasp thee thus, in vain;

Yet while thy bosom heaves that sigh,
While tears thy cheek bedew,
Ah! think-tho' doom'd from thee to fly,
My heart speaks no adieu.

Thee would I bid to check those sighs,
If thine were heard alone;

Thee would I bid to dry those eyes,

But tears are in my own.

One last, long kiss-and then we part-
Another-and adieu.

I cannot aid thy breaking heart,
For mine is breaking too.

OH! Henry, sure by every
by every art

I school my mind to bear its trial ;
But moments come, when tears will start,
And grief no longer brook denial:
Not always can my heart achieve

The parting task-to fly from sorrow,
By reason's aid to cease to grieve,
And trust the hope that gilds the morrow.

I trust it now-my heart is gay,

I feel the aid of calmer reason;

Oh! come it will, the lingering day,

When love and bliss shall have their season. The perils that my soldier try

Shall but the more his worth discover; And fame shall sound his praise on high, My hero brave-my life-my lover.

My Henry shall with peace return,

And war no more our hearts shall sever; And bright this happy hearth shall burn, And smiles and joys be ours for ever.

Ok!