Ye watchful guardians of the fair
Ye fhepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain 47
Young Philander woo'd me lang
Ye blytheft lads and laffes gay
Young Corydon and Phillis
Yes I could love if I cou'd find
Young virgins love pleasure
You meaner beauties of the night Ye nymphs and filvan gods Youth's the feafon made for joys Ye powers that o'er mankind prefide
WOW fweetly (mells the fimmer green! Sweet tafte the peach and cherry; Painting and order please our een, And claret makes us merry:
But fineft colours, fruits and flowers, And wine, tho' I be thirfty,
Lofs a' their charms and weaker powers, Compar'd with those of Chrifty
When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park, No nat❜ral beauty wanting, How lightfome is't to hear the lark, And birds in confort chanting ? But if my Chrifty tunes her voice, I'm rapt in admiration ;
My thoughts with extafies rejoice, And drap the hale creation.
Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance, I take the happy omen, And aften mint to make advance, Hoping fhe'll prove a woman : But dubious of my ain defert, My fentiments I fmother; With fecret fighs I vex my heart, For fear the love another.
Thus fang blate Edie by a burn, His Chrifty did o'er-hear him ; She doughtna let her lover mourn, But e'er he wift drew near him. VOL. I.
She fpake her favour with a look, Which left nae room to doubt her; He wifely this white minute took, And flang his arms about her.
My Chrifty!-witnefs, bonny ftream, Sic joys frae tears arifing, I wish this may na be a dream? O love the maift furprising! Time was too precious now for tauk ; This point of a' his wishes He wadna with fet fpeeches bauk, But war'd it a' on kiffes.
The Bush aboon TRAQUAIR.
EAR me, ye nymphs, and every fwain, I'll tell how Peggy grieves me,
Tho' thus I languish, thus complain, Alas! fhe ne'er believes me. My vows and fighs, like filent air, Unheeded never move her ; At the bonny bufh aboon Traquair, 'Twas there I first did love her.
That day fhe fmil'd, and made me glad, No maid feem'd ever kinder ; I thought myself the luckieft lad, So fweetly there to find her. I try'd to footh my am'rous flame, In words that I thought tender; If more there pafs'd, I'm not to blame, I meant not to offend her.
Yet now she scornful flees the plain,
The fields we then frequented; If e'er we meet the fhews difdain, She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonny blush bloom'd fair in May, Its fweets I'll ay remember;
But now her frowns make it decay, It fades as in December.
Ye rural powers, who hear my ftrains, Why thus fhould Peggy grieve me? Oh! make her partner in my pains, Then let her fmiles relieve me. If not, my love will turn defpair, My paffion no more tender, I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, To lonely wilds I'll wander.
To the Tune of, Polwarth on the Green.
HO' beauty, like the rofe,
That fmiles on Polwarth Green,
In various colours shows,
As 'tis by fancy feen :
Yet all its different glories ly
United in thy face,
And vertue, like the fun on high,
Gives rays to ev'ry grace.
So charming is her air,
So fmooth, fo calm her mind, That to fome angel's care
Each motion feems affign'd:
But yet fo chearful, fprightly, gay, The joyful moments fly,
As if for wings they ftole the ray She darteth from her eye.
But as the tender blushes rife, Soft innocence doth warm, The foul in blissful extafies Diffolveth in the charm.
HAT beauties does Flora disclose? How sweet are her fmiles upon Tweed?
Yet Mary's ftill sweeter than those ; Both nature and fancy exceed. Nor daify, nor fweet blushing rofe,
Not all the gay flowers of the field, Not Tweed gliding gently thro' thofe, Such beauty and pleasure does yield.
The warblers are heard in the grove, The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird, and fweet cooing dove, With mufick enchant ev'ry bufh. Come, let us go forth to the mead, Let us fee how the primroses fpring, We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks fing.
How does my love pass the long day? Does Mary not 'tend a few fheep? Do they never carelefly stray,
While happily fhe lyes afleep? Tweed's murmurs fhould lull her to reft; Kind nature indulging my bliss, To relieve the foft pains of my breast, I'd steal an ambrofial kifs.
"Tis fhe does the virgins excell,
No beauty with her may compare; Love's graces all round her do dwell, She's faireft, where thousands are fair.
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