Here the baftimentos viewing,

We recal our, fshameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander thro' the midnight gloom.

O'er thefe waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If to Britain's fhores returning
You neglect my just request;
After this proud foe fubduing,

When your patriot friends you fee,

Think on vengeance for my ruin,

And for England sham'd in me.

85

XXVI,

JEMMY DAWSON,'

JAMES DAWSON was one of the Manchefter rebels, wha was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington-common, in the county of Surrey, July 30, 1746.-This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which was reported to have happened at his execution. It was written by the late WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Efq; foon after the event, and has been printed among ft his pofthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is bere given from a MS. which contained fome Small variations from that printed copy.

COME

COME

SOME liften to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear;
Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh,

Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov❜d one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid fhe lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damfel came,
And faultlefs was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curfe on party's hateful ftrife,
That led the faithful youth aftray

The day the rebel clans appear'd:

O had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their fash he wore,
And in the fatal drefs was found;

And now he must that death endure,

Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true love's check,
When Jemmy's fentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine fnows
So pale, nor yet so chill appear.

25

With faltering voice the weeping faid,

Oh Dawfon, monarch of my heart, Think not thy death shall end our loves, For thou and I will never part.

30

Yet might sweet mercy find a place,

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,

O GEORGE, without a prayer for thee
My orifons fhould never close.

35

The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame,

And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lifp the giver's name.

40

But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragg'd

To yonder ignominious tree,

Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

To fhare thy bitter fate with thee,

O then her mourning-coach was call'd,
The fledge mov'd flowly on before;

45

Tho' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more,

She

She followed him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behefts of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and stedfaft eye she saw.

Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly lov'd fo long: And ftifled was that tuneful breath, Which in her praise had sweetly fung:

50 .

55

And fever'd was that beauteous neck,

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd:
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-fick head repos'd:

And ravish'd was that constant heart,
She did to every heart prefer;
For tho' it could his king forget,
'Twas true and loyal ftill to her.

60

Amid those unrelenting flames

65

She bore this conftant heart to fee;

But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,

Now, now, fhe cried, I'll follow thee.

My death, my death alone can show

The pure and lasting love I bore: Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more.

70

The dismal scene was o'er and past,

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; The maid drew back her languid head, And fighing forth his name, expir'd.

Tho' juftice ever must prevail,

The tear my Kitty fheds is due; For feldom fhall she hear a tale

So fad, fo tender, and so true.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK

A GLOS