To his forsaken Mistress. The following song had been, in the first edition of this work, assigned to the reign of Charles I. on the internal evidence of its style and sentiment. The editor has lately found it in a musical miscellany, entitled "Select Ayres and Dialogues," of which a second edition was printed for John Playford in 1659. I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could move, had power to move thee; But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be lov'd by none. I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet. find Which kisseth every thing it meets. The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, But scent and beauty both are gone, Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been a while! And I shall sigh, when some will smile, To the Moon.* [From a MS.] THOU silent Moon, that look'st so pale, * The editor has to apologize to the authoress of the two following beautiful little poems, Miss Scott, of Ancram, for having printed them without her permission. For inserting compositions so much in the spirit of one of the most interesting periods of our early poetry, though the productions of the reign of George III. he cannot think any apology due to the reader.. Yet I have often seen thee bring Thy beams o'er yon bare mountain's steep; When the pilgrim's heart did fail, Sure, that passing blush deceives; For thou, fair nymph, art chaste and cold! Love our bosoms seldom leaves; But thou art of a different mould. Hail, chaste queen! for ever hail! And, prithee, look not quite so pale! Yet stay-perhaps thou'st travell❜d far, Hath spread his charms before thy sight; The Owl. [From the same MS.] While the Moon, with sudden gleam, Through the clouds that cover her, Darts her light upon the stream, While the maiden, pale with care, Sighs her sorrows to the air, While the flowerets round her fade,- While the wretch, with mournful dole, Wrings his hands in agony, Praying for his brother's soul Whom he pierced suddenly,— Shrinks to hear thy boding cry,— |