This faid

-all breathless, fick and pale,

Her head upon her hand,

She found her vital spirits fail,

And fenfes at a stand. SYLVANDER then began to melt;

But e'er the word was given, The heavy hand of death fhe felt, And figh'd her foul to Heaven.

PEGGY, I must love thee.

S from a rock past all relief,

The shipwreckt COLIN spying
His native foil, o'ercome with grief,
Half funk in waves, and dying:
With the next morning-fun he spies
A ship, which gives unhop'd furprise;
New life springs up, he lifts his eyes
With joy, and waits her motion.

So when by her whom long I lov'd,
I fcorn'd was, and deferted,
Low with despair my spirits mov'd,
To be for ever parted:

Thus droopt I, till diviner grace
I found in PEGGY's mind and face;
Ingratitude appear'd then base,
But virtue more engaging.

Then now fince happily I've hit,
I'll have no more delaying?
Let beauty yield to manly wit,

We lose ourselves in staying:

I'll hafte dull courtship to a close,
Since marriage can my fears oppose:
Why should we happy minutes lofe?
Since, PEGGY, I must love thee.

Men may be foolish, if they please,
And deemt a lover's duty,
To figh, and facrifice their ease,
Doating on a proud beauty:
Such was my case for many a year,
Still hope fucceeding to my fear,
Falfe BETTY'S charms now disappear
Since PEGGY's far outshine them.

B

Same Tune.

ENEATH a beech's grateful shade Young COLIN lay complaining; He figh'd, and feem'd to love a maid, Without hopes of obtaining : For thus the fwain indulg'd his grief, Tho' pity cannot move thee, Tho' thy hard heart gives no relief, Yet, PEGGY, I must love thee.

Say, PEGGY, what has COLIN done,

That thus you cruelly use him?

If love's a fault, 'tis that alone

For which you should excuse him! 'Twas thy dear self first rais'd this flame, This fire by which I languish;

'Tis thou alone can quench the fame,

And cool its scorching anguish.

For thee I leave the sportive plain,
Where ev'ry maid invites me;
For thee, fole cause of all my pain,
For thee that only flights me :
This love that fires my faithful heart
By all but thee's commended.
Oh! would thou act so good a part,
My grief might foon be ended.

That beauteous breaft fo foft to feel,
Seem'd tenderness all over,
Yet it defends thy heart like steel,
'Gainst thy despairing lover.
Alas! tho' fhould it ne'er relent,

Nor COLIN'S care e'er move thee,
Yet till life's latest breath is spent,
My PEGGY, I must love thee.

Polwart on the Green.

T Polwart on the green,

AT

If you'll meet me the morn,
Where laffes do convene

To dance about the thorn,
A kindly welcome you shall meet,
Frae her wha likes to view

A lover and a lad complete,
The lad and lover you.

Let dorty dames say Na,

As lang as e'er they please,
Seem caulder than the fna',
While inwardly they bleeze;

But I will frankly fhaw my mind,
And yield my heart to thee;
Be ever to the captive kind,
That langs na to be free.

At Polwart on the green,

Amang the new-mawn hay,
With fangs and dancing keen,

We'll pass the heartsome day.
At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid,
And thou be twin'd of thine,
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad,
To tak a part of mine.

Same Tune.

HO' beauty, like the rose,

TH

That smiles on Polwart green,

In various colours shows,

As 'tis by fancy feen:

Yet all its diff'rent glories ly

United in thy face,

And virtue, like the fun on high,

Gives rays to every grace.

So charming is her air,

So fmooth, fo calm her mind,
That to some angel's care

Each motion feems affign'd:
But yet fo chearful, fprightly, gay,
The joyful moments fly,

As if for wings they stole the ray

She darteth from her eye,

Kind, am'rous CUPIDS. while

With tuneful voice she fings,
Perfume her breath and smile,

And wave their balmy wings:
But as the tender blushes rise,
Soft innocence doth warm,
The foul in blissful extafies
Diffolveth in the charm.

THE

PEATY'S Mill.

HE lafs of PEATY'S mill,
So bonny, blyth, and gay,

In spite of all my skill,
Hath stole my heart away.
When tedding of the hay

Bare-headed on the green,
Love 'midst her locks did play,
And wanton'd in her een.

Her arms, white, round, and smooth, Breasts rifing in their dawn,

To age it would give youth,

To prefs 'em with his hand :
Through all my spirits ran
An extafy of blifs,

When I fuch sweetness fand
Wrapt in a balmy kifs.

Without the help of art,

Like flowers which grace the wild,

She did her fweets impart,

Whene'er she spoke or smil'd.