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.