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He in his wedding trim so gay,
She in her winding sheet:
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept? The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
At once his bosom swell:
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride, alı, bride no more!
The varying crimson fied,
She saw her husband dead.
Convey'd by trembling swains;
For ever he remains.
Oft at his grave, the constant hind,
And plighted maid are seen;
They deck the sacred green;
This hallow'd spot forbear;
And fear to meet him there.
NANCY OF THE VALE.
Die Western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleasing ray: And flocks reviving felt no more
The sultry heats of day:
When from an hazle's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue; He blest the scene, he blest the hour,
While Nancy's praise he sung,
Let fops with fickle falsehood range
The paths of wanton love, While weeping maids lament their change,
And sadden every grove:
But endless blessings crown the day
I saw fair Esham's dale!
To Nancy of the vale.
'Twas from Avona's banks the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams ;
The Naiad of the streams.
Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
That floats on Avon's tide ; Bright as the water-lily, sprung,
And glittering uear its side.
Fresh as the bordering flowers, her blooin:
Her eye, all mild to view;
Was never half so blue.
Her shape was like a reed so sleek,
So taper, strait, and fair;
How charming sweet they were!
Far in the winding vale retir'd,
This peerless bud I found; And shadowing rock and woods conspir'd
To fence her beauties round.
That nature in so lone a dell
Should form a nymph so sweet; Or fortune to her secret cell
Conduct my wandering feet!
Gay lordlings sought her for their bride,
But she would ne'er incline; * Prove to your equals true, she cry'd
As I will prove to mine.
"Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,
Has won my right good will; To him I gave my plighted vow,
With him I'll climb the hill.”
Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clasp'd the constant fair ; To her alone I GAVE my youth,
And vow my future care.
And when this vow shall faithless prove,
Or I those charms forego,
That stream shall cease to flow.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done;
Was sitting in the sun,
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
In playing there had found;
Old Kaspar took it from the boy
Who stood expectant by;
And with a natural sigh,