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Nannie's awa'.

OW in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays,

And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, ANY While birds warble welcome in ilka


shaw; But to me it's delightless : my Nannie's awa'. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn: They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw; They mind me o' Nannie: and Nannie's awa'.

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa',
Gi’e over for pity: my Nannie's awa'.
Come, autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me with tidings o’ Nature's decay;
The dark dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me, now Nannie's awa'.


The Silent Look.

ZNTO my heart a silent look

Flashed from thy careless eyes,
And what before was shadow, took
The light of summer skies.
The first-born love was in that look:
The Venus rose from out the deep

Of those inspiring eyes.


Phyllis abest.

ESTE nitens hilaris viridi Natura per agros

Audit uti balans agna seqvatur ovem ;

Cui volucres omni laetae gratantur ab umbra : Sed mihi non haec sunt dulcia : Phyllis abest. Qvodqve nemus calthae decorant et primula veris,

Seqve novo violae stirps nova rore lavat.
Sed mihi contristant haec, qvam sint suavia, pectus :

Haec menti revocant Phyllida: Phyllis abest.
Qvam notat ex udo salientem gramine pastor,

Dum reditum croceae lucis, alauda, canis,
Et merula, ambrosia noctem qvae voce salutas,

Carmina, vos oro, sistite: Phyllis abest.
Tu mihi narrabis, pallens autumne, lubenti

Sqvalida nudari prata, perire nemus :
Tristis hiemps tenebraeqve poli niviumqve ruinae

Sola mihi nunc sunt gaudia : Phyllis abest.

E. L. B.

Venus orta.

XNTUITU secura feris mihi pectus, et omne

Fluctuat aestiva luce, qvod umbra fuit. Ille meas peperit flammas obtutus, ocellis

Caeruleis istis exiit orta Venus,

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The Banished One.

Y native English now I must forego ;

And now my tongue's use is to me no more

Than an unstringed viol, or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.


you have engaoled my tongue,
Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?


Jolly Spring.

ARTH now is green and heaven is blue ;
Lively Spring, which makes all new,

Jolly Spring doth enter;
Sweet young sunbeams do subdue

Angry aged Winter.
Winds are mild and seas are calm,
Every meadow flows with balm,

The earth wears all her riches;
Harmonious birds sing such a psalm

As ear and heart bewitches.


Nos Patriam fugimus. “Ήδη ημέρα τίθησι πατρίας έμε φωνής άφωνον, ουδε χρήσις έστ' έτι γλώσσης τι μάλλον, ή λύρας νεύρων άτερ, ή πηκτίδων, ή κεί τις έγκλείσας έχοι τέχνημα Φοίβου κίθαριν, ή 'ξελών πάλιν τούτω 'πιτρέψαι χερσίν άγνωσιν θιγείν, άμουσος όστις κωφά φροιμιάζεται. οποία και συ στόματος εύφθόγγους το πρίν γλώσση πικλείσας τυγχάνεις πύλας έμοί όδoυσι χείλεσίν τε, κλήθροισιν διπλούς ή δ' αξυνήμων και φρενών κεκομμένη πρός σου πυλωρος άμαθία προσίσταται. αλλ', ου γαρ ηβα παιδαγωγείσθαι τ' έτι τω τηλικούτω και μαθημάτων έραν, άναυδον ήδη θάνατον, ουκ άλλως έρω, εμοί δικάζεις, ός γε ταϊς εγχωρίοις πνοαϊς ομιλείν τούτ' αποστερείς στόμα.

J. B.

Vere nitent Terrae.

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VERRAE iam viridis, caerulus est color

Caeli : ver vegetum, cuncta redintegrans,
Ver laetum subiit : iam senium domat

Iratasqve hiemis minas
Festivus radiis sol iuvenilibus.
Mitescunt Zephyris frigora: Nereo
Sternuntur tacito marmora ; balsamis

Manat qvisqve suis ager,
Plenasqve induitur divitias humus;
Dum concors avium per

siluas chorus
Blandis ingeminat pelliciens modis

Aures atqve animos melos.




3F thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,

Then sleep, dear, sleep,

And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on thine eye-lashes :

Lie still and deep,
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes

The rim o' the sun to-morrow
In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,

Then die, dear, die;

'Tis deeper, sweeter
Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming

With folded eye;
And then alone, amid the beaming

Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her
In eastern sky.

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The Claims of the Workman.

FIGHT of voice in framing laws,

Right of peers to try my cause,
Peasant homestead, mean and small,
Sacred as the monarch's hall.


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