For thy dear sake, nae care I 'll take, Graham of Gartmore CXXXIV TO A YOUNG LADY WEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, SWEET Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force, W. Cowper CXXXV THE SLEEPING BEAUTY LEEP on, and dream of Heaven awhile Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile And move, and breathe delicious sighs! Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! - And now, how like a saint she sleeps! A seraph in the realms of rest! Sleep on secure! Above controul Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee: And may the secret of thy soul Remain within its sanctuary! S. Rogers F CXXXVI OR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove And when we meet a mutual heart Bid us sigh on from day to day, But busy, busy still art thou, To join the gentle to, the rude. For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. J. Thomson TH CXXXVII 'HE merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrow'd name; Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd: I sung, and gazed; I play'd, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. M. Prior W CXXXVIII HEN lovely woman stoops to folly What charm can soothe her melancholy, The only art her guilt to cover, O. Goldsmith CXXXIX E banks and braes o' bonnie Doon YE How can ye bloom sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care! Thou 'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days Thou 'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, But left the thorn wi' me. R. Burns CXL THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode AWAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : Now the rich stream of Music winds along The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. O Sovereign of the willing soul, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance, obey Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are seen On Cytherea's day, With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now in circling troops they meet : |