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When on the tumbling billows rolling,

Or on the smooth sands idly strolling, Or in cool grottos they lie lolling,

You sport there,

To chase the moonbeams up the mountains

You prepare ;
Or dance with elves on brinks of fountains,

Mirth to share;
Now seen with lovelorn lilies weeping,
Now with a blushing rosebud sleeping,
While fays, from forth their chambers peeping,
Cry, O‘rare !

LEFTLY.

FAIRY SONG.

WOULD you the fairy regions see,
Hence to the green woods run with me;
From mortals safe, the livelong night,
There countless feats the fays delight,
Where burns the glowworm's lamp so blue,
One gives each flower its proper hue;
While, near, his busy huswife weaves
Ribands of grass and mantling leaves ;
Some teach young plants with grace to move,
Some lead the woodbine to her love,
Some strew the shores with shells and sand,
While others pilot weeds to land :
By moonlight these their labours free,
Then follow me,

follow me,
And the chaffer's bugle our guide shall be.

LEFTLY.

TO THE WATERNYMPHS,

ON DRINKING AT A FOUNTAIN.

REACH with your whiter hands to me

Some crystal of the spring ;
And I about the cup shall see

Fresh lilies flourishing :
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this;

To the’ glass your lips incline-
And I shall see, by that one kiss,
The water turn'd to wine.

HERRICK.

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THE POPLAR. No watchdog disturb’d the calm season of rest, And the daybeams were faintly the mountain

adorning; The night dew still hung on the eglantine's breast, And the shrill cock first broke the sweet silence

of morning. To the haunts of his childhood, the scenes of his

sport, A wanderer came in the stillness of sorrow, The magic of life's early vision to court, And the sweetest of hours from remembrance

to borrow. But the field of his culture was dreary and wild, And drear were the bowers where the rose once

was blowing ; The dark weed had grown where the garden had smiled,

[glowing. And a wilderness spread where late beauty was

Yet one poplar survived, and was lofty and fair, 'Twas the pride of his youth, when its sun rose

enchanting; And Affection had treasured his memory there, And had hallow'd his name on the tree of his

planting. Unknown was the hand that thus witness'd its truth,

[beaming; Unknown was the heart with affection thus But the wanderer thought on the friend of his youth,

[were streaming. And his spirit was bless'd, though his tear-drops Thou flower of affection, entwining the heart, To deck the drear scene of our wanderings

given ; Thy balm to our grief can its healing impart, And thy blossoms of light caught their beauty

from heaven.

P. M. JAMES.

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

And are you sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think of wark!

Mak haste, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread

When Colin's at the door!
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay

And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,

There is nae luck at aw;
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 bailie's wife

That Colin's come to town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,

My stockings pearly blue;
'Tis aw to pleasure my gudeman,
For he's baith leel and true.

For there's nae luck, &c.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side,

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 aw to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.

For there's nae, &c.

There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk

Been fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,

That Colin weel may fare;
And mak the table neat and clean,

Let every thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa,

Ah, there's nae, &c.

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like cauler air, His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair!

And shall I see his face again,

And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae, &c. [The caul blasts of the winter wind,

That thrilled though my heart,
They're aw blawn by, I hae him safe,

Till death we'll never part:
But why should I of parting tauk,

It may be far awa;
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw*.]

For there's nae, &c.
If Colin's weel, and weel content,

I hae nae mair to crave-
And gin I live to keep him sae,

I'm blest aboon the lave.
And shall I see his face again,

And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae, &c.

MICKLE.

BACHELOR'S FARE.

FUNNY and free are a bachelor's revelries,

Cheerily, merrily passes his life; Nothing knows he of connubial devilries,

Troublesome children and clamorous wife. • These lines enclosed between brackets were inserted by Dr. Beattie. VOL. III.

RR

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