To a Lady.

THE adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barbarous skill;

'Tis but the poisoning of the dart
Too apt before to kill.


As when a shepherd of the Hebrid isles,
Placed far amid the melancholy main,
(Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles;
Or that aerial beings sometimes deign
To stand embodied, to our senses plain,)
Sees on the naked hill, or valley low,
The whilst in ocean Phoebus dips his wain,

A vast assembly moving to and fro :

Then, all at once, in air dissolves the wondrous show.



ORNARIS tanta nimis, heu! crudeliter arte,
Letalisque prius, tabe sagitta mades.

W. B. T. J.


Vita fugax.

QUALIS ubi Hebudiæ pastor de vertice rupis,
Quæ longe Arctoas tristis obumbrat aquas,
Sole sub occiduo, procul in convalle remota,
Saxosive super culmina nuda jugi,

Aut videt, aut vidisse putat (seu credula fallit
Mens vacuum et fictis ludit imaginibus,
Sive quod aëriæ nonnunquam hæc corpora formæ
Sumpsere, humanis conspicienda oculis,)
Innumeram glomerari aciem, circumque moveri : —
Mox eadem in ventos it resoluta leves.

Haud aliter mortis fugiunt evanida in umbras
Optima quæque, hominum queis sibi vita placet:
Gratia, opes, studium sophiæ, laudumque cupido,
Fidus amor, fidæ gaudia amicitiæ :

His itaque ut brevibus fruere, æternam esse memento, Quæ post has tenebras est oritura dies.



Blanche of Deban's Song.

THEY bid me sleep, they bid me pray,
They say my brain is warped and wrung;-
I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot pray in Highland tongue.
But were I now where Allan glides,
Or heard my native Devan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That Heaven would close my wintry day!

'T was thus my hair they bade me braid,

They bade me to the church repair;

It was my bridal morn, they said,

And my true-love would meet me there:

But woe betide the cruel guile

That drowned in blood the morning smile!

And woe betide the fairy dream!

I only waked to sob and scream.



Blancæ Debanensis Cantiuncula.

MONTICOLE dormire jubent, Superosque precari,
Meque vagam sana mente carere ferunt:

Non ego montano possum dormire cubili ;
Non ego montana reddere voce preces.
Si tamen Allanus qua volvitur aureus essem,

Aut ubi natalis Devana lambit agros;
Suaviter O illic dormirem, et læta precarer

Conderet ut tristem nox mihi summa diem.
Hoc voluere modo longos me fingere crines,
Castaque tædiferi templa subire dei;
Nam mihi dixerunt hymenæam surgere lucem,
Visaque sum sponso nupta futura meo.
Ah! male funestæ pereat fraus impia dextræ
Sanguine quæ risus mersit adorta breves.

Heu! cito blanditi fugientia somnia visi!
Heu! vigiles fletus, et mala vera nimis!



Isabel and Lorenzo.

FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel!

Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! They could not in the selfsame mansion dwell Without some stir of heart, some malady; They could not sit at meals but feel how well It soothed each to be the other by ;

They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep, But to each other dream and nightly weep.

With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
He might not in house, field, or garden, stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter

To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill,
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.

He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turned to the same skies ;
And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning step upon the stair.


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