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Within the shade of some sequester'd vale,
Where Philomela pours her plaintive tale,
And the mild breezes of the balmy west
Would bear sweet odours from thy fragrant breast.
But now stern winter, with his hand unkind,
Will scatter all thy beauties to the wind,
And I shall grieve, and heave the pitying sigh,
That loveliness, like thine, so soon should die.
Where Philomela pours her plaintive tale,
And the mild breezes of the balmy west
Would bear sweet odours from thy fragrant breast.
But now stern winter, with his hand unkind,
Will scatter all thy beauties to the wind,
And I shall grieve, and heave the pitying sigh,
That loveliness, like thine, so soon should die.
WRITTENIN THE ELEGANT ALBUM OF MISS R. WHO PARTICULARLY DESIRED I WOULD WRITE SOME LINES FOR HER.
Come, gentle muse, my pen inspire,
For by " particular desire,"
Some lines I am to write:
For by " particular desire,"
Some lines I am to write:
