THE UNION. WHILE rich in brighteft red the blushing Rofe Her freshest opening beauties did disclose ; Her, the rough Thistle from a neighbouring field, } One ftem the Thistle and the Rofe shall bear : ON CONTENTMENT. DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD *. M ANY that once, by Fortune's bounty rear'd, Amidst the wealthy and the great appear'd; Have wifely from thofe envy'd heights declin'd, Have funk to that just level of mankind, Where nor too little nor too much gives the true peace of mind. E * In his Meditationes Sacræ. ON ON THE LAST JUDGMENT, AND THE HAPPINESS OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN. IN DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD. ́N that blefs'd day, from every part, the just, Rais'd from the liquid deep or mouldering duft, The various products of Time's fruitful womb, All of paft ages, prefent and to come, In full affembly shall at once resort, And meet within high heaven's capacious court: The reverend fires with pleasure fhall we greet, Full many a virtuous deed, and many a noble feat. There, like their days, their joys fhall ne'er be done, COLIN'S COLIN'S COMPLAINT. A S ON G, TO THE TUNE OF GRIM KING OF THE GHOSTS. ESPAIRING befide a clear stream, DESPA A fhepherd forfaken was laid; And while a falfe nymph was his theme, A willow fupported his head. The wind that blew over the plain, To his fighs with a sigh did reply Alas, filly fwain that I was ! Thus fadly complaining, he cry'd, Twere better by far I had dy'd. How foolish was I to believe She could doat on fo lowly a clown, To think that a beauty fo gay, Or So kind and fo conftant would prove; go clad like our maidens in gray, Or live in a cottage on love? What though I have skill to complain, Though the Muses my temples have crown'd; And you, my companions fo dear, Forbear to accufe the falfe maid. Though through the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly, 'Twas hers to be falfe and to change, If while my hard fate I sustain, In her breast any pity is found, Let her come with the nymphs of the plain, Is to fhade me with cypress and yew; Then Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, gone, ANOTHER HAND. REPLY, BY I. YE E winds to whom Colin complains, And likes to play tricks with my heart. II. When he will, he can figh and look pale, Can tremble, and alter his tale, The willow my rover prefers To the breast, where he once beg'd to lie And the ftream, that he fwells with his tears, Are rivals belov'd more than I. : |