To Nell When At Moffat Well.

TO NELL

WHEN AT MOFFAT WELL.

ON the delightful banks of Mein, The muse laments in pensive strain; The nymphs assembl'd on the green, Of Nelly's absence all complain.

Our rural swains no joys can find, But still in pensive silence mourn; With heads upon the turf reclin'd They sigh, and wish your swift return.

Oft have they curs'd fair Moffat town, With all the virtues of the Well; The sprightly Beau, and rustic clown, Of Nelly's charms delight to tell.

Dear maid, it is for you alone, They spend whole days and nights in sighs; And will you disregard their moan, And all their plaintive notes despise?

'Tis Autumn now, the fertile field, Rich Ceres decks with yellow grain; With joy we would our sickles wield, If Nelly deign'd to grace the plain.

Come now and of our labours share; None better can that weapon ply; O mitigate Philander's care, Whose toil seems less when you are nigh.

Once more, dear Nell, I'd wish to see You cheerful join the rural throng; Your presence would enhance our glee, And sweetly animate my song.