Yet my reed shall refound thro' the grove

With the fame fad complaint it begun; How the fmil'd, and I could not but love; Was faithlefs, and I am undone !

PHOEBE.

PHOEBE. A PASTORAL.

This, by Dr. Byron, is a better effort than the preceding.

M

I.

time, O ye Muses! was happily fspent,

When Phoebe went with me wherever I went: Ten thousand foft pleasures I felt in my breast: Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was bleft. But now he is gone, and has left me behind, What a marvellous change, on a fudden, I find? When things were as fine as cou'd poffibly be, I thought it was Spring; but, alas! it was she.

II.

The fountain, that wont to run fweetly along, And dance to foft murmurs the pebbles among, Thou know'ft, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, It was pleasure to look at, 'twas mufic to hear. But, now he is abfent, I walk by its fide, And, ftill as it murmurs, do nothing but chide: Muft you be fo chearful, whilft I go in pain?

Peace, there, with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

III.

My dog I was ever well pleased to fee

Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me;

And

And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog faid,
"Come hither, poor fellow ;" and patted his head.
But, now, when he's fawning, I, with a four look,
Cry," Sirrah," and give him a blow with my crook:
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray
Be dull as his mafter, when Phoebe's away?

IV.

Sweet mufic went with us both all the wood thro'; The Lark, Linnet, Throftle, and Nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grafhopper under our feet. But now she is absent, tho' ftill they fing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone :Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,, Gives every thing elfe its agreeable found.

V.

Will no pitying power that hears me complain,
Or cure my difquiet, or foften my pain?

To be cur'd, thou muft, Collin, thy paffion,remove ::
But what fwain is fo filly to live without love?
No, Deity, bid the dear nymph to return;

For ne'er was poor fhepherd fo fadly forlorn.
Ah! what fhall I do? I fhall die with defpair:
Take heed, all ye fwains, how you love one fo fair.

A. SON G.

A

SON G.

This, by Mr. Rowe, is better than any thing of the kind in our language.

D

I.

ESPAIRING befide a clear ftream, A fhepherd forfaken was laid; And, while a false nymph was his theme, A willow fupported his head.

The wind that blew over the plain,

To his fighs with a figh did reply; And the brook, in return to his pain, Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas! filly fwain that I was ;

(Thus fadly complaining he cry'd)'; When first I beheld that fair face,

"Twere better by far I had dy'd: She talk'd, and I blefs'd her dear tongue ; When the fmil'd, it was pleasure too great;

I liften'd, and cry'd when she fung,

Was nightingale ever so sweet!

III.

How foolish was I to believe

She could doat on fo lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve

To forfake the fine folk of the town;

To think that a beauty fo gay,

So kind and fo conftant would prove;

Or go

clad like our maidens in grey,

Or live in a cottage on love?

IV.

What though I have skill to complain,

Though the Mufes my temples have crown'd;
What tho', when they hear my soft strains,
The vi gins fit weeping around?

Ah, Colin! thy hopes are in vain,
Thy pipe and thy laurel refign,

Thy fair one inclines to a fwain,
Whofe mufic is fweeter than thine.

V.

All you, my companions fo dear,
Who forrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I fuffer, forbear,

Forbear to accufe the falfe maid.
Tho' thro' the wide world I fhould

range, "Tis in vain from my fortune to fly; "Twas her's to be faite and to change; 'Tis mine to be conftant and die.

VI.

If, while my hard fate I fuftain,

In her breaft any pity is found,

Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,

And fee me laid low in the ground:

The