Yet ftill o'er drearye heathe and hylle

This hapleffe may de dyd rove;
And manye a heartefelte fighe fhee heav'd,
As fhee foughte for her true love.

And tho' fulle loude the thunders roll'd,
And wet, wet pour'd the rayne;

Yet ftill, in fearche of her deare-lov'd youthe,
Shee brav'd the stormie playne.

Rouz'd with the roaring of the storme,

The baron up arose,

And foone in fearche of hys beauteous mayde
With anxious speede hee goes.

But lo! the hapleffe mayde was gon,
Thro' defarts wilde to rove,
Alaffe alle foe friendleffe and forlorne,
In fearche of her true love.

Oh then that baron ftorm'd and rav'd,
And hys foote-page loude call'd hee—
"Oh bring to mee quick my peafante garbe,
"As quicke as yee can flee."-

Oh then rode forthe this yong baron
O'er manye a drearye waye,

When alaffe! all on the ftormye plaine

Hee fawe the mayden laye

-Oercome with toile and spente with griefe,

That hapleffe mayde had felle

-The baron hee wip'd hys quiv'ring browe,
Whyle hys hearte it 'gan to fwell.

Hee got hym water from the brooke,
And fprinkl ed o'er the mayde:
But manye a teare, that from hym felle,
Lente mofte its faving aide.

Righte glad hee mark'd her ftruggling breath,

And blufhe-reviving face,

While tender hee welcom❜d her to lyfe

With manye a fonde embrace.

Then foone hee rais'd her on hys steede,

With heart foe blithe and gaye;

And while the deare mayde foe fofte hee footh'd,
To hys castle rode awaye.

"And art thou founde, my owne true love,

"And art thou come?" fhee faide:

"Then blefte bee the nighte, and bleste the houre, "When from our cott I fledd!"

Thus fpake the mayde as faste they rode

Thro' manye a lonelye waye;

And fhee thoughte to his humble cot

Her love would her conveye.

But

But foone they reach'd the castle wall,

And came to the castle gate,

When loe! her deare youthe, without delaye,

Rode boldelye in thereat,

The warders blewe their founding hornes,
And their banners wav'd in aire ;
Their hornes refounded o'er the dale,
Their banners fhone afarre.

Thrice turn'd the mayden wan and pale,
And with feare her hearte was mov'd,
When shee fawe the lordelye baron was
The ftranger youthe shee lov'd.

But blithe, hee cry'd, " Cheare up, my fayre,
"And forgive my pryde, I praye;

And lo! for thy faithe foe noblie prov'd,
"Bee this thye brydal daye.

"Cheare up, cheare up, deare conftante mayde,
"And share in our mirthe and glee;
"For untill the woeful houre of deathe,
"I'll ever prove true to thee.

"Altho' thou wafte but a lowelye mayde,
"Thou'rt nowe my countess gaye;
"Then come, cheare up, my angel foe true,

"For 'tis our brydal daye."

The warders blewe their founding hornes,

And their banners wav'd in aire ; Their hornes refounded o'er the dale, Their banners fhone afarre.

XVI.

T

JULIA, a Ballad.

Now first printed.

O the graves, where fleepe the deade,
Haplefs Julia took her waye;

Sighs to heave, and teares to shed,

O'er the spot where Damon laye.

Manye a blooming flow'r fhe bore,

O'er the greene grafs turfe to throwe; And, while faft her teares did poure, Thus fhee fang to foothe her woe:

"Softe

Softe and fafe tho' lowly grave,

"Fast o'er thee my teares fhall flowe;

"Only hope the haplefs have,

"Only refuge left for woe. "Conftant love and grief fincere

"Shall thy hallow'd turfe pervade; "And many a heartefelte figh and teare, Hapless youth, fhall foothe thy fhade.

66

"Lighted by the moone's pale fhine,
"See me, to thy mem'rye true,
"Lowlye bending at thy fhrine,

66

Manye a votive flow're to ftrewe. "But how little do these flow'rs

"Prove my love and conftancye!

"Yet a few fad fleeting houres,

"And, deare youthe, I'll followe thee:

"Rose replete with fcent and hue,

"Sweetest flow'r that nature blowes, "Damon flourish'd once like you; "Nowe o'er him the greene grafs grows. "Rofe, go deck his hallow'd grave, "Lilly, o'er the greene turfe twine; "Honour meete that turfe fhoulde have,

"Beauty's bed, and virtue's fhrine.

"Primrose