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BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.
Captain JAMES DAWSON, the amiable and unfortunate subject of these beautiful stanzas, was one of the eight officers belonging to the Manchester regiment of volunteers, in the service of the Young Chevalier, who were hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington Common, in the year 1749.-And this ballad, written about the time, was founded on a remarkable circumstance which actually happened at his execution.
COME listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear,
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
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 loved one charming maid,
And dearly was he loved again.
One tender maid she loved him dear,
Of gentle blood the damsel came,
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.
But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the favor'd youth astray,
The day the rebel clans appear'd:
O had he never seen that day!
Their colors and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found;
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, nor yet so chill appear.
With faltering voice she weeping said,
"O Dawson, monarch of my heart,
"Think not thy death shall end our loves,
“For thou and I will never part.
"Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
"And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
"O, GEORGE, without a prayer for thee
"My orisons should never close.
"The gracious prince that gives him life,
"Would crown a never-dying flame,
"And every tender babe I bore
"Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
"But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragg'd "To yonder ignominious tree,
"Thou shalt not want a faithful friend
"To share thy bitter fate with thee."
O then her mourning coach was call'd,
The sledge moved slowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not loved her favorite more.
She follow'd him, prepared to view
The terrible behests of law:
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and stedfast eye
Distorted was that blooming face,
Which she had fondly loved so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung:
And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly closed;
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head reposed:
And ravish'd was that constant heart,
She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.
Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, "Now, now," she cried, "I 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." The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expired.
Though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due ;
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, and so true.
BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.
YE shepherds so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was so watchful as I :
-I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Now I know what it is to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah, lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each evening repel :
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :
I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
Since Phyllis vouchsafed me a look,
I never once dream'd of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
I prized every hour that went by,
Beyond all that pleased me before;
But now they are past, and I sigh;
And I grieve that I prized them no more.
But why do I languish in vain?
Why wander thus pensively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear?
They tell me, my favorite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown ;
Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander, with pleasure, alone.
When forced the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought-but it might not be so-
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gazed, as I slowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely removed from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.