LEANDER AND BELINDA.

A TALE.

Belinda is the loveliest fair,
 Of all the rural train,
 That dance upon the flow'ry lawn,
 Or trip across the plain. 

Her pleasing air, and winning grace,
 The village swains admire;
 But not a youth in all that place,
 To court her durst aspire. 

Her robes were of the whitest lawn,
 As spotless as her fame;
 And all the blushing virgin train,
 Rever'd Belinda's name. 

At last her fame Leander hears,
 Who in the city dwells;
 And he, for this fair village-maid,
 Forsook the city belles. 

His coat was of the crimson dye,
 His spurs were silver bright;
 And thus equip'd away he rode,
 To court this nymph in white. 

With each acquir'd accomplishment
 Endow'd, and on his tongue
 The pow'rful art of flattery,
 In full persuasion hung. 

He told to her such pleasing tales,
 As anxious lovers tell;
 Such as he'd often told before,
 To many a shining belle. 

Into the garden walk'd this pair,
 To view the flowers gay;
 Belinda look'd like lilies fair,
 That grew about the way. 

By her fair hand Leander took,
 This lovely charming maid;
 Like Strephon's flocks at summer's noon,
 From shade to shade they stray'd. 

They walk'd 'till drooping dewy flow'rs,
 Proclaim'd the ev'ning nigh;
 And that sweet bird that sings i' th' air,
 Descended from the sky. 

Leander seeing nature's pride,
 The tales of ev'ning tell,
 He with reluctancy retir'd,
 And bade his nymph farewell. 

But vow'd he quickly would return,
 And make the fair one his;
 Then with an oath his promise bound,
 And seal'd it with a kiss. 

Yet the next news Belinda hears,
 Is that Leander's wed;
 A wealthier, not a fairer dame,
 He to the church had led. 

But ere the honey-moon was past,
 A fever seiz'd his bride;
 And though he left nor pains, nor cost,
 Nor medicine untry'd. 

Not all the skill'd physician's art,
 Could heal his sicken'd spouse;
 Cosmelia died, a just reward
 For all his broken vows.