"How happy then must Colin be
Who never knew this fear,
Whose sweet address at liberty
Commands the fair-one's ear!
"A smile, a tear, a word, a sigh,
Stand ready at his call;
In me unknown they live and die,
Who have and feel them all."
Ah, simple swain, how little knows
The love-sick mind to scan
Those gifts which real love bestows
To mark the favoured man.
Secure, let fluent parrots feign
The musick of the dove;
'Tis only in the eye may reign
The eloquence of love.
Will, the Maniac.
A Ballad.
Hark! what wild sound is on the breeze?
'Tis Will, at evening fall
Who sings to yonder waving trees
That shade his prison wall.
Poor Will was once the gayest swain
At village dance was seen;
No freer heart of wicked stain
E'er tripp'd the moonlight green.
His flock was all his humble pride,
A finer ne'er was shorn;
And only when a lambkin died
Had Will a cause to mourn.
But now poor William's brain is turn'd,
He knows no more his flock;
For when I ask'd "if them he mourn'd,"
He mock'd the village clock.