Colinet AND Phoebe

As Colinet and Phoebe sat, Beneath a poplar grove, The gentle youth with fondest truth, Was telling tales of love: Dear blooming maid the shepherd said, My tender vows believe, Those downcast eyes and artless sighs Can ne'er my faith deceive.

Tho' some there are, from fair to fair, Delights in wilds to rove, Such change from me thou ne'er canst fear; Thy charms secure my love. Then Phoebe now approve my vow, By truth and fondness prest; A smile assume, to grace thy bloom, And make thy shepherd blest.

A blush o'er spread her cheeks with red, And half she turn'd aside, With pleasing woos her bosom rose, And thus the maid reply'd. 'Dear gentle youth, I know thy truth, And all thy arts to please; But ah! is this the time for bliss, And themes so soft as these?

While all around we hear no sound, But war's terrific strain, The drum commands our armed bands, And chides the tardy swain: Our country's call arouses all, Who dare be brave and free, My love shall crown the youth alone: Who save's himself and me.

'Tis done, he cry'd, from thy dear side, Now quickly I'll be gone, From love will I to freedom fly, A slave to thee alone: And when I come with laurels home, And all that freemen crave, To crown my love, thy smiles shall prove The fair reward the brave.