The Lake has burst. The lake has burst! the lake has burst! Down through the chasms the wild waves flee; With a roaring song, Away to the eager awaiting sea! Down through the valleys, and over the rocks, The oaks and the ashes Shrink, drop, and are borne to the hungry sea! The cottage of reeds and the tower of stone, And the slave and his master, In one wide disaster, Are hurried, like weeds, to the scornful sea! The sea-beast he tosseth his foaming mane, And the sleep-buried Thunder And the Lightning opens her piercing eye! There is death above, there is death around, There is nothing now doing, Save terror and ruin, In earth, and in air, and the stormy sea! BARRY CORNWALL. Lacus Eruptio. Fugere ruptis obiicibus lacus Fugere lymphae: per cava litorum Agmine prono eqvitant liqvores, Bacchantium cum murmure fluctuum, Humore torrens amnis: et inpetus Regumqve turres tectaqve pauperum Fatoqve consortes eodem Cum famulis domini per unam Stragem in superbos, ceu stipulae leves, Fluctubus aeriasqve torqvens Spumas opacum nubibus ad polum Fulminat et iaculatur ignes: Supraqve circumqve exitium ingruit, T. S. E. The Lea-Rig. When o'er the hill the eastern star In mirkest glen, at midnight hour Although the night were ne'er sae wild, The hunter lo'es the mornin' sun, Nobody at Home. BURNS. You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come : Knock as you will, there's nobody at home. Pratum. Ubi clivo superato pecudes sidus eoum. Vocat ad mulctra coactas, et ab agris rediit bos Mea lux, conveniam te, Neobule, meus ignis, Prope rivum et cava saltus, ubi odorata refulget Pluviis betula gemmis. Neqve enim, si per opacae tenebrosissuma silvae Media nocte vagarer, metus esset mihi dulcem Repetenti Neobulen: Etiam si glomeraret rabiem nox, etiam si Amat ortus redeuntes nemorosarum agitator Caprearum; petit aestu medio flumen et umbras Sibi piscator amicas: At ego vesperis horam tenebrosam celebrabo, R. B. Nemo Domi est. Qvi cerebrum pulsas, venturaqve grandia credis Consilia, ah tandem desine: nemo domi est. K. The Stony Heart. Whence comes my love, O hearte, disclose! The blushyng cheek speakes modest mynde, And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire: Yet all so faire but speake my moane, Syth noughte dothe saye the hearte of stone. Why thus, my love, so kyndely speake Sweet lyppe, sweet eye, sweet blushynge checke, O Venus! take thy giftes again; HARINGTON. The Old Woman. There was an old woman who had three sons, Jerry and James and John: Jerry was hanged, James was drowned, John was lost and never was found; And there was an end of her three sons, GAMMER GURTON. |