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The Mariner.
Ye winds which sweep the grove's green tops,

And kiss the mountains hoar,
Oh softly stir the ocean-waves

That sleep along the shore;
For my love sails the fairest ship

That wantons on the sea ;
Oh bend his mast with pleasant gales,

And waft him hame to me.
Oh leave nae mair the bonnie glen,

Clear stream, and hawthorn grove,
Where first we walked in gloaming gray,

And sighed and looked of love.
For faithless is the ocean-wave,

And faithless is the wind;
Then leave nae mair my heart to break

'Mang Scotland's hills behind.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

To a Lady. For me no roseate garlands twine,

But wear them, dearest, in my stead;
Time hath a whiter hand than thine,

And lays it on my head.
Enough to know thy place on earth

Is there where roses latest die;
To know, the steps of youth and mirth

Are thine, that pass me by.

H. TAYLOR.

Nobody at Home.
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come:
Knock as you will, there's nobody at home.

[graphic]

Pellacia Ponti.
Venti qvi nemorum culmina verritis
Canentiqve iugo figitis oscula,
Undis parcite longum

Per litus recubantibus.
Sponsus noster enim dirigit huc ratem,
Qva non ulla fretis pulcrior insilit
Afris : O bonus adflans

Deducat Zephyrus domum.
Tu vallem patriam, tu vitreum cole
Fontem et dulce nemus, sero ubi vespere
Suspiravimus una et

Vultu praestitimus fidem :
Saxis neve tuo sub borealibus
Me desiderio neglige inemori,
Fallacisqve Favoni

Fallacisqve maris sciens.

W. G. c.

Aliena mitte.
Parce mihi, virgo, roseas properare corollas,

Munera qvae fronti sint magis apta tuae. Aetatemne vides caput hoc contingere ? Palma

Vel tua prae tali candida palma minus.
Sat mihi, terrarum qvacumqve habitaveris ora,

Parcat hiems serae serior ipsa rosae ;
Cumqve iocus praeter me fugerit atque iuventas,

Agnoscam gressus, sat mihi, signa tui.

W. G. C.

Nemo Domi est. Qvi cerebrum pulsas, venturaqve grandia credis

Consilia, a tandem desine: nemo domi est.

K.

The Cypress Wreath.

O lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.
Too lively glow the lilies light,
The varnished holly’s all too bright,
The may-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than mine
But, lady, weave no wreath for me,
Or weave it of the cypress-tree.
Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine
With tendrils of the laughing vine;
The manly oak, the pensive yew,
To patriot and to sage be due ;
The myrtle-bough bids lovers live,
But that Matilda will not give;
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.
Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses, bought so dear ;
Let Albyn bind her bonnet blue
With heath and harebell dipped in dew;
On favoured Erin's crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald green:
But, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.
Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair;
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves
With bloody hand the victor weaves,
Let the loud trump his triumph tell;
But when you hear the passing bell,
Then, lady, twine a wreath for me,
And twine it of the cypress-tree.

Iubet Cupressus funebres.

Aut nullum, Lalage, necte mihi, precor,
Aut sertum foliis necte cupressinis.
Resplendent nimio lilia lumine,
Et pictis nimium frondibus arbuti;
Calthis mixta rosae suave rubentia
Nostro serta caput laetius ambiant;
At nullum, Lalage, necte mihi, precor,
Aut sertum foliis necte cupressinis.
Vernanti decoret tempora pampino
Subridens facili laetitia Iocus ;
Fortem pro patria saepiat aesculus;
Aptum consiliis taxus amet senem;
Spem reddit miseris myrtus amantibus,
Sed myrtum, Lalage, tu mihi denegas :
Ergo mitte leves nectere flosculos,
Et frondes potius texe cupressinas.
Tollat laeta rosas Anglia compares,
Qvae multo rapuit sanguine praemia,
Innectatqve apici Scotia caerulo
Stillantes liqvido rore thymi comas ;
Flos cristam nitidae cingat Hiberniae
Qvi vernat trifida fronde smaragdinus :
At nullum, Lalage, necte mihi, precor,
Aut sertum foliis necte cupressinis.
Inter clara lyrae carmina virgines
Musaeis hederam crinibus implicent:
Et laurus, capiti promeritum decus,
Victor sanguinea dum properat manu,
Æris concelebret clangor adoream :
Tu cum funereo tibia praecinet
Cantu, tum, Lalage, necte mihi, precor,
Tum sertum foliis necte cupressinis.

Yes, twine for me the cypress-bough,
But, O Matilda, twine not now:
Stay till a few brief months are past,
And I have looked and loved my last.
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With pansies, rosemary and rue,
Then, lady, weave a wreath for me,
And weave it of the cypress-tree.

SCOTT.

The Fond Lover.

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?

Prithee, why so pale ?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute ?
Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,

This cannot take her:
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.
Let who will take her!

SUCKLING.

Pictorum Certamen ambiguum. Nennt den Urbiner den ersten der Maler; allein Leonardo

Ift zu vollendet, um blos irgend der zweite zu feyn.

PLATEN.

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