THE Shepherd's Complaint

O NIGHTINGALE! best poet of the grove! That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Blest in full possession of thy love, O! lend that strain, sweet nightingale to me. O! lend that strain, &c.

Tis mine, alas! to mourn a wretched fate; I love a maid, who all my bosom charms; Yet lose my days without this lovely mate; Inhuman fortune keeps her from my arms; Inhuman, &c.

You, happy birds, by nature's simple laws, Lead your calm lives sustain'd by nature's fare; You dwell where ever roving fancy draws; And love and song are all your pleasing care. And love, &c.

But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride, Dare not be blest, lest envious tongues should blame: And here in vain I languish for my bride! O mourn with me, sweet birds, my hapless flame, O mourn with me, sweet birds, my hapless flame!