Tune, Allan Walter


THROUGH tow'ring woods, and shades, and groves,
I rang'd, to find a constant lover,
Whose heaving breasts do pant and move,
And heave a sigh, love to discover.
She's sweet, she's charming, and divine;
She's full of love, her beauty shineth;
She walks so neat: gods! were she mine!
Her radiant eyes soft slumber sealeth.


Her head she leans upon the ground,
Though wind blows hard, she's not dismay'd:
Her locks fly loose, and all unbound,
Unnumber'd charms are here display'd.
Her skin is like the Parian white;
Her cheeks are like vermilion ruddy;
Her nectar lips yield much delight,
Ambrosial sweetness there is found aye.


Her iv'ry neck, that is expos'd,
Is soft as silk, and smooth and glossy;
Her lovely bosom, when 'tis prest,
Doth heave and swell, when we lie cozy.
Some gazing hours I have employ'd,
And homeward have I oft convey'd her;
When I her company enjoy'd,
Enraptur'd was my soul with pleasure!


I scarce could move, was so opprest;
My heart beat thick while I sat by her,
With ready sigh and flutt'ring breast,
Still fearing that she might turn shyer.
Awake, thou sleeping Innocence,
And hear my sighs and gentle whispers;
I ne'er intend to give offence,
Though charms around thee hang in clusters.


Thy graces surely are divine;
Thou'rt goodness all supremely pleasing;
I'll guard that innocence of thine,
And bid all sops give over teazing.
The tuneful throng may wing their way;
Their tunes decay, when cold's the season;
But thine and mine shall last for aye;
When Nature fails, we'll sing from reason.


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