MARIA. A favourite Ballad, taken from STERNE, composed by Mr. MOULDS

'Twas near a thickset's calm retreat, Under a poplar tree, Maria chose her wretched seat, To mourn her sorrows free: Her lovely form was sweet to view, As dawn at opening day, But ah, she mourned, her love not true, And wept her cares away.

The brook flow'd gently at her feet, In murmurs smooth along: Her pipe, which once she tun'd most sweet, Had now forgot its song: No more to charm the vale she tries, For grief has filled her breast; Those joys which once she us'd to prize, But love has robb'd her rest.

Poor hapless maid, who can behold, Thy sorrows so severe, And hear thy love-lorn story told, Without a falling tear: Maria, luckless maid, adieu, Thy sorrows soon must cease, For Heaven will take a maid so true To everlasting peace.