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My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, "Come hither, poor fellow ;" and patted his head.

But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry "Sirrah!" and give him a blow with my crook :

But what swain is so silly to live without love !
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.

And I'll give him another; for why should not Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair; Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair.

Tray

Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe 's away?

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have
I seen,

How fair was the flower, how fresh was the
green!

What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,

The cornfields and hedges and everything made !
But now she has left me, though all are still
there,

They none of them now so delightful appear :
"T was naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood through,

The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too;
Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp! went the grasshopper under our
feet.

But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melody 's gone :
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave everything else its agreeable sound.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue ?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not
smile ?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest,
And made yourselves fine for a place in her

breast?

You put on your colors to pleasure her eye,
To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die.

How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe return,

While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn!

Will no pitying power, that hears me com-
plain,

Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain?
To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion re-

move;

Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 't would melt down the lead.

JOHN BYROM.

THE SAILOR'S WIFE.*

AND are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jades, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread,
When Colin 's at the door?
Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a' ;
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman 's awa’.

And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's-satin gown;

For I maun tell the baillie's wife
That Colin 's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockin's pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;

Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair;
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa' ?

Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for 't when she is here.
Ah, Colin old Time is full of delay,

Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst Mariner's Wife is now given, by common consent,' says Sarah

* Bartlett, in his Familiar Quotations, has the following: "The

say.

Tytler, to Jean Adam, '1710-1765."

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PRESENCE IN ABSENCE. Our two souls, therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth if the other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like the other foot, obliquely run.
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

A Valediction forbidding Mourning.

SHAKESPEARE.

DR. J. DONNE.

DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT.

SONNET.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

WITH how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to

skies,

How silently, and with how wan a face!
What may it be, that even in heavenly place
That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?
Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case;
I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace
To me that feel the like thy state descries.
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deemed there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

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sea;

And the crown and the pound, they were baith for me!

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,
When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was
stown awa;

My father brak his arm --- - my Jamie at the sea
And Auld Robin Gray came a-courting me.

My father couldna work,—my mither couldna spin;

I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;

Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,

Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, will you marry

me?"

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack ;
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jennie dee?
And wherefore was I spared to cry, Wae is me!

My father argued sair my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;

They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the

sea;

And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife, a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist - I couldna think it he,
Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry
thee !"

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say :
Ae kiss we took -nae mair - I bad him gang

away.

I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee,
And why do I live to say, Wae is me!

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a' I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ;

at hame,

When a' the weary world to sleep are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For Auld Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

LADY ANNE BARNARD.

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