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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.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,

He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, alı, bride no more!

The varying crimson fied,
When stretch'd before her rival's corse,

She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,

Convey'd by trembling swains;
One mould with her beneath one sod,

For ever he remains.

Oft at his grave, the constant hind,

And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,

They deck the sacred green;
But swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,

This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate;

And fear to meet him there.

NANCY OF THE VALE.

A BALLAD,

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!
And every blessing find its way

To Nancy of the vale.

'Twas from Avona's banks the maid

Diffus'd her lovely beams ;
And every shining glance display'd

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;
The little Halcyon’s azure plume

Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like a reed so sleek,

So taper, strait, and fair;
Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,

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,
The stream that saw our tender love,

That stream shall cease to flow.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done;
And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grand-child Whilelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
That he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy

Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh,
"Tis some poor fellow's scull, said he,
Who fell in the great victory.

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