The Indifferent Shepherdess to Colin

By Ann Yearsley

Colin, why this mistake?

Why plead thy foolish love?

My heart shall sooner break

Than I a minion prove;

Nor care I half a rush,

No snare I spread for thee:

Go home, my friend, and blush

For love and liberty.

Remembrance is my own —

Dominion bright and clear,

Truth there was ever known

To combat every care:

One image there impressed

Through life shall ever be

Whilst my innocuous breast

Owns love of liberty.

I ever taught thee how

To prize the soul entire,

When on the mountain’s brow

I turned my rural lyre:

Thou servile art and vain,

Thy love unworthy me!

Away! nor hear my strain,

Of love or liberty.

What arts need I display

To woo a soul like thine?

Thou ne’re canst know the way

My memory to confine;

For my eternal plan

Is to be calm and free.

Estranged from tyrant man

I’ll keep my liberty.

Yon woods their foliage wear,

Be thou away or nigh;

The warblers of the year

Instruct me not to sigh:

My tears ne’er roll the steep,

Nor swell the restless sea,

Except for those who sleep

Bereft of liberty.

Slave to commanding eyes!

Those eyes thou wouldst commend

My judgment must despise —

My pity is thy friend:

If eyes alone can move

A swain so dull as thee,

They mean but to reprove

Thy loss of liberty.

I stray o’er rocks and fields

Where native beauties shine:

All fettered fancy yields

Be, Colin, ever thine.

Complain no more! but rove —

My cheek from crimson free,

Within my native grove

I’ll guard my liberty.