A BALLAD Found in a Cottage in Lancashire, and sent up to Lord OXFORD

Hard by the hall, our master's house, Where Mersey flows to meet the main, Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose A lover to complain.

With arms across, along the strand, A shepherd walk'd, and hung his head; Viewing the footsteps on the sand, Which a bright nymph had made.

The tide, says he, will soon erase The marks so lightly here imprest; But time, or tide, will ne'er deface Her image in my breast.

Am I some savage beast of prey? Am I some monster grown, That thus she flies so swift away, Or meets me with a frown?

That bosom soft, that lily skin, (Trust not to outward show!) Contains a marble heart within, A rock hid under snow.

Ah me! the flints and pebbles wound Her tender feet, from whence there fell These crimson drops that stain the ground, And beautify each shell.

O fair one, moderate thy flight, I will no more pursue, But take my leave for a long night:— Adieu! lov'd maid, adieu!

This said, he took a running leap, A lover's leap, indeed! And plung'd into the sounding deep, Where hungry fishes feed.

The melancholy hern stalks by; Around the squawling sea-gulls yell; Aloft the croaking ravens fly, And toll his passing bell.

Thus dy'd a shepherd in his prime, The whirlpool suck'd him down; Not unregarded by the Nine, Belov'd by all but one.

The waters roll above his head, The billows toss it o'er and o'er; His ivory bones lie scattered, And whiten all the shore.