ONCE a boy a Rosebud spied, Heathrose fair and tender, All array'd in youthful pride,-- Quickly to the spot he hied, Ravished by her splendour. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender! Said the boy, "I'll now pick thee, Heathrose fair and tender!" Said the rosebud, "I'll prick thee, So that thou'lt remember me, Ne'er will I surrender!" Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender! Now the cruel boy must pick Heathrose fair and tender; Rosebud did her best to prick,-- Vain 'twas 'gainst her fate to kick-- She must needs surrender. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender! 1779.* ----- BLINDMAN'S BUFF. OH, my Theresa dear! Thine eyes, I greatly fear, Can through the bandage see! Although thine eyes are bound, By thee I'm quickly found, And wherefore shouldst thou catch but me? Ere long thou held'st me fast, With arms around me cast, Upon thy breast I fell; Scarce was thy bandage gone, When all my joy was flown, Thou coldly didst the blind repel. He groped on ev'ry side, His limbs he sorely tried, While scoffs arose all round; If thou no love wilt give, In sadness I shall live, As if mine eyes remain'd still bound. 1770. ----- CHRISTEL. My senses ofttimes are oppress'd, Oft stagnant is my blood; But when by Christel's sight I'm blest, I feel my strength renew'd. I see her here, I see her there, And really cannot tell The manner how, the when, the where, The why I love her well. If with the merest glance I view Her black and roguish eyes, And gaze on her black eyebrows too, My spirit upward flies. Has any one a mouth so sweet, Such love-round cheeks as she? Ah, when the eye her beauties meet, It ne'er content can be. And when in airy German dance I clasp her form divine, So quick we whirl, so quick advance, What rapture then like mine! And when she's giddy, and feels warm, I cradle her, poor thing, Upon my breast, and in mine arm,-- I'm then a very king! And when she looks with love on me, Forgetting all but this, When press'd against my bosom, she Exchanges kiss for kiss, All through my marrow runs a thrill, Runs e'en my foot along! I feel so well, I feel so ill, I feel so weak, so strong! Would that such moments ne'er would end! The day ne'er long I find; Could I the night too with her spend, E'en that I should not mind. If she were in mine arms but held, To quench love's thirst I'd try; And could my torments not be quell'd, Upon her breast would die. 1776.* ------ THE COY ONE. ONE Spring-morning bright and fair, Roam'd a shepherdess and sang; Young and beauteous, free from care, Through the fields her clear notes rang: So, Ia, Ia! le ralla, &c. Of his lambs some two or three Thyrsis offer'd for a kiss; First she eyed him roguishly, Then for answer sang but this: So, Ia, Ia! le ralla, &c. Ribbons did the next one offer,