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To thee belongs the rural reign,
Thy cities shall with commerce shine,
Rule Britannia, &c.
The muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair: Bleft ise! with beauties, with matchless beauties crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the Fair.
Rule Britannia, &c.
RALPH OF THE MILL.
A Pastoral Ballad. By Mr Hawkins.
S Hebe was tending her sheep t'other day,
Where the warblers whistle and fing,
As brisk and as blithe as a king:
Contentment e'er guided his will ;
Tho' always bred up in a mill.
Love stole in his breast at the fight of the maid,
For he could not her charms but adore, “ And if thou art cruel, dear Hebe,” he said,
“ I surely shall love you the more.” Such tenderness melted her into surprise
(For Hebe was never unkind), And all of a sudden love glow'd in her eyes,
Which spoke the dictates of her mind.
They sat themselves down at the foot of a hill,
And chatted together fo free, Till Ralph, the young swain, made signs to the mill,
Whilft clasping the nymph on his knce;
And this in a transport the miller replied,
“ Thy charms, dearest girl, are divine;"> Then press'd her sweet lips, and with rapture he cry'd,
• O Hebe ! consent to be mine!”.
She liften'd attentive to all his request,
And freely comply'd to his will; ;
With honest young Ralph of the mill.
In bliss all their hours they are spent :
Their “ happiness flows froni content.”
THE FLOWER OF YARROW.
N ancient times, as fongs rehearse,
One charming nymph employ'd each verse,
Our fathers, with such beauty fir'd,
Whose beauty, unadorn’d by art,
For ever cease Italian noise ;
A PASTORAL SONG.
OPHIA is bright as the morn,
May, When flow'rets the meadows adorn,
And nature is ev'ry where gay.
But not the delightful perfume,
Exhald from the breath of the fair, Nor her beautiful cheeks' rofy bloom,
With the charms of her mind can compare. Whene'er she appears on the plain,
Enraptur’d we gaze and admire ;
And fill ev'ry heart with desire.
O beware! ye fond youths ! or ye die !
Of her modeft, her heavenly eye!
The songsters that range
thro' the trees, Harmoniously fing as they rove; Her voice is more tuneful than these,
And excels the sweet notes of the grove.
Ye fwains do not envy my bliss,
Nor repine at my thrice happy lot ; Our contract is seal'd with a kiss,
Sophia will dwell in my cot.
IS wine that clears the understanding,
Makes men learned without books;
'Tis wine that gives a life to lovers,
Wine will set our souls on fire,
OW pleasing glides our morn of youth,
E'er beauty strikes the breast;
The flutt'ring soul to rest :
Exerts a tyrant part;
Surrounds the guardless heart.
The vermil lip, love darting eye,
Fair cheek of rosy hue ;
That parting swells to view,
To love attune the mind,
Then to the unfrequented grove,
Or by the languid stream,
And breathe his plaintive theme :
In gentle murmurs die,
Returns him figh for figh.
A FAVOURITE RONDEAU.
Sung by Mrs Weichsell at Vauxhall.
The words by Mr Hawkins, Set to Music by Mr Hook.
AFT, O Cupid ! to Leander,
Sighs that rend my tender breast ; Whilft I ftray in groves meander,
Bid him fly to make me bleft.
Purling rills be gently flowing,
Op'ning glades your sweets diftil: Soothe a heart's incessant glowing,
With content my fancy fill.
Haste, ah! haste
lover to me! Fear not now my cold disdain ; While, sweet shepherd, you pursue me,
To keep my heart I strive in vain.
N wine there is all in life you can name,
friend/hip, and love aids the fane; Since life, my dear boy, is at moft but a span, Let's live all our days, and let this be the plan :