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The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew;

And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true.

Then to her new love let her go,

And deck her in golden array, Be finest at every fine show,

And frolic it all the long day; While Colin, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talk'd off, or seen, Unless when beneath the pale moon,

His ghost shall glide over the green.





To the brook and the willow that heard him como

plain, Ah, willow, willow, Poor Colin sat weeping, and told them his paip ;

Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.

Sweet stream, he cried sadly, I'll teach thee to

flow. Ah, willow, &e. And the waters shall rise to the brink with my


Ah, willow, &c.

All restless, and painful poor Amoret lies,

Ah, willow, &c. And counts the sad_moments of time as it flies.

Ah, willow, &c.

To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumbers

repair; Ah, willow, &c. Spread your downy wings o'er her and make her

your care, Ah, willow, &c.

Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to

creep, Ah, willow, &c. Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to sleep.

Ah, willow, &c.

Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close,

Ah, willow, &c. So the sleep that I lose brings my fair one repose, Ah, willow, &c.

But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed;

Ah, willow, &c.
If the loss of my dear-one, my love is decreed;

Ah, willow, &c.

If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be

chear'd; Ah, willow, &c. If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard;

Ah, willow, &c.

Believe me, thou fair-one ; thou dear-one believe,

Ah, willow, &c.
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give.

Ah, willow, &c

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One fate to thy Colin and thee shall be tyd,

Ah, willow, &c. And soon lay thy shepherd close by thy cold side.

Ah, willow, &c.

Then run, gentle brook; and to lose thyself, haste;

Ah, willow, &c.
Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my last;

Ah, willow, willow; ah, willow, willow.


Think not, while gayer swains invite

Thy feet, dear Girl, to pleasure's bowers, My faded form shall meet thy sight,

And cloud my Laura's smiling hours.

Thou art the world's delighted guest,

And all the young admire, is thine ; Then I'll not wound thy gentle breast

By numb’ring o’er the wounds of mine.

I will not say how well, how long,

This faithful heart has sigh’d for thee; But leave thee happier swains among,

Content, if thou contented be.

But Laura, should Misfortune's wand

Bid all thy youth's gay visions fly, From thy soft cheek the rose command,

And force the lustre from thine eye;

Then, thoughtless of my own distress,

I'll haste thy comforter to prove, And Laura shall my friendship bless

Altho', alas ! she scorns my love,


When youth his fairy reign began,
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man ;
While peace the present hour beguild,
And all the lovely prospect smil'd;
Then, Mary, 'mid my lightsome glee,
I heav'd the painless sigh for thee.

And when, along the waves of woe,
My harrass'd heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang, that gnaws unseen ;
Then, shipwreck'd on life's stormy sea;
I heav'd an anguish'd sigh for thee!

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