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If to another She resigned her hand ?
Would your heart rest at ease? or would it swell
With all the pains, the sharpest pains, of Hell ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For without Jealousy, you cannot love!

To the last Question of thy trusty friend (Though many more might still be asked !) attend ! To purge her virtue, or revenge her wrongs (For Beauty is the theme of busy tongues !); Should blood be called for, in the doubtful strife, Wouldst thou, with pleasure, part with blood ?-or life? Wouldst thou, all dangers in her Cause despise ; And meet unequal foes, for such a prize ? Would it not plant new courage in thy heart; And double vigour to thy arm impart? To screen thy Mistress from the slightest harms; Wouldst thou not purchase death; and would ne

death have charms? From hence, a real Passion you may proy For never yet was Coward known to le

By these Prescriptions judge yoy
Put all these Questions closely t
And if, by them, your flame
Then will I own, that you

*c.

194

BRIT. ANTH. VIII,

THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS.

How blyth, ilk morn, was I to see

The Swain come o'er the hill!
He skipt the burn, and flew to me;

I met him with good will !
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom,

The broom of Cowdenknows !
I wish I were with my dear Swain,

With his pipe and my ews.

I neither wanted ew nor lamb,

While his flock near me lay :
He gather'd in my sheep at night;

And chear'd me a' the day!
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

He tun'd his pipe and reed sae sweet,

The birds stood list’ning by:
Even the dull cattle stood and gazed,

Charm'd with his melody!
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

While thus we spent our time by turns

Between our flocks and play;
envy'd not the fairest Dame,

Tho' ne'er sae rich and gay!
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

Hard fate! that I shou'd banish'd be,

Gang heavily and mourn; Because I lov'd the kindest Swain

That ever yet was born! O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry hour;

Cou'd I but faithfu' be?
He staw my heart; cou'd I refuse

Whate'er he ask'd of me?
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

My doggie, and my lettle kit

That held my wee soup whey,
My plaidy, broach, and crooked stick,

May now ly useless by!
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

Adieu, ye Cowdenknows ! adieu !

Farewell a' pleasures there !
Ye Gods! restore to me my Swain !

Is a' I crave, or care.
O, the broom, the bonny bonny broom, &c.

'YE Shepherds of this pleasant vale,

Where Yarrow streams along, Forsake your rural toils, and join

In my triumphant Song !
She grants! She yields! One heavenly smile

Atones her long delays !
One happy minute crowns the pains

Of many suff'ring days !

'Raise, raise the victor notes of joy!

These suff'ring days are o'er !
LOVE satiates now his boundless wish

From Beauty's boundless store.
No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears,

This rising calm destroy!
Now every prospect smiles around,

All opening into joy!

*The sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,
Brightened each hill, and o'er each vale

New coloured every flower.
The gales, their gentle sighs withheld;

No leaf was seen to move !
The hov'ring songsters round were mute;

And wonder hushed the grove!

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• The hills and dales no more resound

The lambkin's tender cry
Without one murmur, Yarrow stole

In dimpling silence by!
All Nature seemed, in still repose,

Her voice alone to hear ;
That gently rolled the tuneful wave.

She spoke, and blessed my ear.

Take, take whate'er of bless, or joy,

You fondly fancy mine!
Whate'er of joy, or bless, I boast;

Love renders wholly thine!”
The woods struck up, to the soft gale;

The leaves were seen to move! The feathered choir resumed their voice;

And wonder filled the grove !

• The hills and dales again resound

The lambkin's tender cry,
With all his murmurs, Yarrow trilled

The Song of Triumph by!
Above, beneath, around, all on

Was Verdure, Beauty, Song ! I snatched her to my trembling breast!

All Nature joyed along!'

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