"ALL IN THE DOWNS." (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear) And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet "O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be "Believe not what the landsmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They'll tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find : Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. "If to far India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white: Thus every beauteous object that I view, Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. "Though battle call me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; 291 Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his dear return: Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." The boatswain gave the dreadful word; The sails their swelling bosom spread ; No longer must she stay aboard : They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head: Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: "Adieu!" she cries, and waved her lily hand. "TWAS WHEN THE SEAS." JOHN GAY. "TWAS when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclined. Wide o'er the foaming billows She cast a wistful look; Her head was crown'd with willows, That trembled o'er the brook. The merchant robb'd of pleasure, Sees tempests in despair; But what's the loss of treasure, To losing of my dear? Should you some coast be laid on, Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden, But none that loves you so. How can they say that nature Has nothing made in vain; Why then, beneath the water, No eyes the rocks discover That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying, Thus wail'd she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear. When o'er the white wave stooping His floating corpse she spied ; Then, like a lily drooping, She bow'd her head, and died. COLIN AND LUCY. BY THOMAS TICKELL. [THOMAS TICKELL was born at Bridekirk, in Cumberland, in 1686, and was educated at Oxford, but declined a fellowship in that University, as he was unwilling to take orders. He was made UnderSecretary of State, through the friendship of Addison, and afterwards Secretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland. He died in 1740. Tickell contributed to the Spectator and Guardian. His poems are graceful and tender, but are deficient in variety and force. The following is his best production.] OF Leinster, famed for maidens fair, Bright Lucy was the grace, Nor e'er did Liffey's limpid stream Reflect so sweet a face; Till luckless love and pining care Impair'd her rosy hue, Her coral lips and damask cheeks, And eyes of glossy blue. Oh! have you seen a lily pale When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid, Her life now near its end. By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Take heed, ye easy fair! Of vengeance due to broken vows, Ye perjured swains! beware. |