As the wood pidgeon cooes without his mate,
So fhall my doleful dirge bewail her fate.
Of Blouzelinda fair I mean to tell,
The peerless maid that did all maids excell.

30

Henceforth the morn shall dewy forrow shed, And ev❜ning tears upon the grass be spread; The rolling ftreams with watry grief shall flow, 35 And winds shall moan aloud---when loud they blow. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, The dropping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn; The feafon quite fhall ftrip the country's pride, For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda dy'd.

40

Where-e'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view, Woods, dairy, barn, and mows our paffion knew. When I direct my eyes to yonder wood,

Fresh rifing forrow curdles in my blood.

45

Thither I've often been the damfel's guide,
When rotten flicks our fuel have supply'd ;
There, I remember how her faggots large
Were frequently these happy fhoulders charge.
Sometimes this crook drew hazel boughs adown,
And stuff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown;
Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way,
Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay;
Th' untoward creatures to the ftye I drove,
And whistled all the way---or told my love.

51

If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie, I fhall her goodly countenance espie;

55

For there her goodly countenance I've seen,
Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean.
Sometimes, like wax, she rolls the butter round,
Or with the wooden lily prints the pound.
60
Whilome I've seen her fkim the clouted cream,
And prefs from spongy curds the milky ftream.
But now, alas! thefe ears fhall hear no more
The whining fwine furround the dairy door;
No more her care fhall fill the hollow tray,
To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey.
Lament, ye swine, in gruntings spend your grief,
For you, like me, have loft your fole relief.

When in the barn the founding flail I ply,
Where from her fieve the chaff was wont to fly,
The poultry there will feem around to stand,
Waiting upon her charitable hand.
No fuccour meet the poultry now can find,
For they, like me,
have loft their Blouzelind.

Whenever by yon barley-mow I pass, Before my eyes will trip the tidy lass.

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I pitch'd the fheaves (oh could I do fo now)
Which she in rows pil'd on the growing mow.
There ev'ry deale my heart by love was gain'd,
There the sweet kiss my courtship has explain'd.
Ah Blouzelind! that mow I ne'er shall fee,
But thy memorial will revive in me.

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75

81

Lament, ye fields, and rueful symptoms show; Henceforth let not the smelling primrose grow; Let weeds, inftead of butter-flow'rs, appear, 85 And meads, instead of daisies, hemlock bear; For cowflips fweet let dandelions spread; For Blouzelinda, blithsome maid, is dead! Lament, ye fwains, and o'er her grave bemoan, And spell ye right this verse upon her ftone: Here Blouzelinda lyes—Alas, alas! Weep, Shepherds-and remember fieb is grass.

CRUBBINOL.

Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear,
Than to the thirsty cattle rivers clear;
Or winter porridge to the lab'ring youth,
Or bunns and fugar to the damfel's tooth;
Yet Blouzelinda's name fhall tune my lay,
Of her I'll fing for ever and for aye:

Line

84. Pro molli violà, pro purpureo Narcisso

Carduus & fpinis furgit paliurus acutis. VIRG. 90. Et tumulum facite, & tumulo fuperaddite carmen. 93. Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta,

Quale fopor feffis in gramine: quale per æftum
Dulcis aquæ faliente fitim reftinguere rivo.
Nos tamen hæc quocunque modo tibi noftra viciffim
Dicemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad aftra.

VIRG.

96. Κρέσσον μελπομένω του ακεέμεν ο μέγι— λέχειν.

90

95

THEOC.

When Blouzelind expir'd, the weather's bell
Before the drooping flock told forth her knell;
The folemn death-watch click'd the hour fhe dy'd,
And fhrilling crickets in the chimney cry'd;
The boding raven on her cottage fate,

And with hoarfe croaking warn'd us of her fate;
The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred,
Drop'd on the plains that fatal inftant dead; 106
Swarm'd on a rotten ftick the bees I fpy'd,
Which erst I saw when goody Dobfon dy'd.

How fhall I, void of tears, her death relate,
When on her darling's bed her mother fate! 110
These words the dying Blouzelinda spoke,
And of the dead let none the will revoke.

Mother, quoth fhe, let not the poultry need, And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed ; Be these my fifter's care - and every morn

--

Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn;

115

The fickly calf that's hous'd, be sure to tend,
Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend.
Yet e'er I die---fee, mother, yonder shelf,

There fecretly I've hid my worldly pelf.
Twenty good fhillings in a rag I laid;

Be ten the parfon's, for my fermon paid.

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The reft is yours --- My fpinning-wheel and rake Let Sufan keep for her dear fifter's sake;

My new ftraw hat, that's trimly lin❜d with green, Let Peggy wear, for fhe's a damfel clean.

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My leathern bottle, long in harvests try'd,
Be Grubbinol's-this filver ring befide:
Three filver pennies, and a nine-pence bent,
A token kind to Bumkinet is fent.
Thus spoke the maiden, while the mother cry'd;
And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she dy❜d.

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135

To fhow their love, the neighbours far and near Follow'd with wiftful look the damfel's bier. Sprigg'd rosemary the lads and laffes bore, While difmally the parfon walk'd before. Upon her grave their rosemary they threw, The daifie, butter-flower, and endive blue.

After the good man warn'd us from his text, That none could tell whofe turn would be the next; He faid, that heav'n would have her foul no doubt, And spoke the hour-glafs in her praise --- quite out.

To her sweet mem'ry flow'ry garlands ftrung, O'er her now empty feat aloft were hung. With wicker rods we fenc'd her tomb around, 145 To ward from man and beast the hallow'd ground; Left her new grave the parfon's cattle raze, For both his horfe and cow the church-yard graze.

Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, To drink new cyder mull'd, with ginger warm. For gaffer Tread-well told us, by the by, Excefive forrow is exceeding dry.

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