For once she liv'd a nymph of spotless fame 

 In an obscure retreat, and Truta was her name. 

 It chanc'd that in a flow'ry path she stray'd, 

 Where a clear river with the pebble play'd, 

 And just disturb'd the silence of the shade. 

 Truta now seated near the spreading trees, 

 Enjoys the coolness of the passing breeze; 

 In the clear stream she casts her modest eyes, 

 And in a fillet her fair tresses lies. 

 While in this solitude she thus remains, 



And dies her beauteous face with various stains; 



* 



It chanc'd the robber Lucius, thro' the shade, 



With eager eyes perceiv'd the lonely maid ; 



He saw and lov'd her riches, on her face, 



For both her dress and form appear'd with equal grace. 



The uymph now heard the rustling with affright ; 



She saw a man, and trembled at the sight; 



Swiftly along the winding shore she fled, 



And cry'd, and vow'd, and call'd the gods to aid. 



Truta despairing sought, with trembling speed, 



A rock that overlooked the wat'ry mead ; 



Hither she bent her course, the summit gain'd, 



And thought her virtue now might be maintain'd 



Deepe in her gills, and, plonging where the beech 

 Shaddowt the poole, she runs in dread affright j 

 !n vain the deepest rocke her late delight, 



In vain the sedgy nook for help she tries ; 



The laughing elfe now curbs, new aids her flight, 



The more entangled still the more shs flies, 

 And soon amid the grass the panting captive lies. 



Where now, ah pity ! where that sprightly play, 



That wanton bounding, ani exulting joy, 

 That lately welcom'd the retourning ray, 



When by the rjv'lets banks, with blushes coy, 

 April w alk'd forth ah ! never more to toy 

 Jn purling streams, she paati, sh gasps, and dies!" 



Mickle's Syr Martyn, Can. L 



Cheaply 



