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CXVIII.

FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

I
"'VE seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling,

I've felt all its favours, and found its decay;
Sweet was its blessing, kind its careffing,

But now 'tis fed, -fled far away.

I've seen the forest adorned the foremost,

With flowers of the faireft, most pleafant and gay ; Sae bonny was their blooming, their scent the air per

fuming, But now they are wither'd and weeded away.

I've seen the morning with gold the hills adorning,

And loud tempeft ftorming before the mid day. I've seen Tweed's silver streams shining in funny beams,

Grow drumly and dark as he rollid on his way.

Ofickle Fortune ! why this cruel sporting?

O why still perplex us, poor fons of a day? Nae mair your smiles can chear me, nae mair your

frowns can fear me, For the flowers of the forest are withered away.

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Thro' mazy windings o'er the plain, I'll in some lonely cave refide,

And ever mourn my faithful swain. Flower of the forest was my love,

Soft as the fighing summer's gale, Gentle and constant as the dove,

Blooming as roses in the vale.

Alas! by Tweed my love did ftray,

For me he search'd the banks around; But, ah! the fad and fatal day,

My love, the pride of swains, was drown'd. Now droops the willow o'er the stream,

Pale ftalks his ghost on yonder grove, Dire fancy paints him in my dream,

Awake, I mourn my hopeless love.

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MY

Y love was once a bonny lad,

He was the flower of all his kin; The absence of his bonny face

Has rent my tender heart in twain.
I day nor night find no delight,

In filent tears I still complain ;
And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes,

That ha'e ta'en from me my darling swain.

Despair and anguish fill my breast,

Since I have lost my blooming rose ; I sigh and moan while others rest,

His absence yields me no repose. To seek my love I'll range

Thro' ev'ry grove and diftant plain ; Thus l'll ne'er cease, but spend my days,

T'hear tidings from my darling [wain.

and rove,

There's nothing strange in nature's change,

Since parents fhew fuch cruelty ; They've caus’d my love from me to range,

And knows not to what destiny.
The pretty kids and tender lambs

May cease to sport upon the plain ;
But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent,

For the absence of my darling swain.

Kind Neptune, let me thee intreat,

To send a fair and pleasant gale ; Ye dolphins sweet, upon me wait, And convey me upon your

tail. Heav'ns bless my voyage with success,

While crossing of the raging main,
And send me safe o'er to that distant shore,

To meet my lovely darling swain.

All joy and mirth at our return

Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay;
The bells shall ring, and sweet birds fing,
To
grace

and crown our nuptial day. Thus bless'd with charms in my love's arms,

My heart once more I will regain ;
Then I'll range no more to a distant shore,

But in love will enjoy my darling fwain.

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Jocky. HEN Jocky was bless'd with your love

and your truth, Not on Tweed's pleasant banks dwelt so blithsonie

a youth, With Jenny I sported it all the day long, And her name was the burden and joy of my song, And her name was the burden and joy of my song.

Fenny. Ere Jocky had ceas'd all his kindness to me,

There liv'd in a vale not so happy a she,
Such pleasures with Jocky his Jenny had known,
That the scorn'd in a cot the fine folks of the town."

Jocky. Ah! Jocky, what fear now poffefses thy mind,

That Jenny, fo constant, to Willy's been kind ! When dancing so gay with the nymphs on the plain, She yielded her hand and her heart io the swain.

Jenny. You falsely upbraid—but remember the day
With Lucy you toy'd it beneath the new hay ;
When alone with your Lucy, the shepherds have faid,
You forgot all the vows that to Jenny you made.

Focky. Believe not, sweet Jenny, my heart stray'd from

thee. For Lucy the wanton's a maid still for me : From a lass that's so true your fond Jocky ne'er rov'd, Nor once could forsake the kind Jenny he lov'd.

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Fenny. My heart for young Willy ne'er panted nor

figh’d, For you of that heart was the joy and the pride. While Tweed's waters glide, shall your Jenny be true, Nor love, my dear Jocky, a shepherd like

you.

Jocky. No shepherd e'er met with so faithful a fair,

For kindness no youth can with Jocky compare. We'll love then, and live from fierce jealoufy free, And none on the plain shall be happy as we.

S O N G

CXXII.

THE BASHFUL LOVER.

Set by Mr Hudson.

THE ,

Tender, constant, and sincere, Who dares not tell his tender tale,

Left he offend his charmer's ear: I cannot, dare not tell his name ;

But say, would you his paffion blame?

His heart enshrines the cruel fair,

Of all his thoughts the constant theme;
Her lov'd idea triumphs there,
His daily muse, his nightly dream.

I cannot, dare not, &c.

When in her presence he appears,

He veils the secret of his eyes; More deep respect his paffion wears, Than ev'n his charmer can surmise.

I cannot, &c.

Ah! should his love itself betray,

And her austerity offend !
Her cruelty would drive away
At once the lover and the friend.

I cannot, &c.

S O N G

CXXIII.

STREPHON'S COMPLAINT.

HEN Delia on the plain appears,

Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, I would approach, but dare not move ; Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

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Whene'er she speaks, my ravith'd ear
No other voice than hers can hear ;
No other wit but hers approve;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other swain commend,
Tho? I was once his strongest friend,
His instant enemy I prove,
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

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When she is abfent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?
When fond of pow'r, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for ev'ry swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?

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