The Scots Magazine, Volume 26

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Sands, Brymer, Murray and Cochran, 1764 - English literature
 

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Page 262 - Phillis vouchsaf d me a look, I never once dreamt of my vine ; May I lose both my pipe and my crook, If I knew of a kid that was mine : I priz'd every hour that went by, Beyond all that had pleas'd me before ; But now they are past, and I sigh ; And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I...
Page 262 - Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green. But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
Page 262 - What it is, to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each ev'ning repel ; Alas ! I am faint and forlorn : — I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
Page 262 - Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine.
Page 263 - Alas ! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain: The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
Page 351 - I fliall take an airing down your way on Saturday, and pray let me have a little leg of lamb, with fome fpinnage and plain butter, to regale on. Where I dine in town they ftarve me with, luxury ; and I have fat at many a table, where 1 had not a bit of any thing to eat, becaufe I had too much of every thing.
Page 262 - With the lilac to render it gay ! Already it calls for my love To prune the wild branches away.
Page 262 - When forced the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart ! Yet I thought — but it might not be so — 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gazed, as I slowly withdrew, My path I could hardly discern ; So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.
Page 262 - twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd, Who could rob a poor bird of its young ; And I lov'd her the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
Page 424 - When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe, Their pebbled beds permitted leave, And goblins haunt from fire, or fen, Or mine, or flood, the walks of men...

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