Mens ferrea. Fons et caussa mei, dic, mens mea, qvid sit amoris : Dic etiam tanti qvae sit mihi caussa doloris : Illa pudicitiam monstrat rosa verna genarum; Sed mihi, qvidqvid ibi pulcri est, habet omne dolorem, Cur mihi, cara, tui tam suave loqvuntur ocelli, Vel cor, qvale meum est, da qvoqve tale Neae. Anus. Vixit anus qvaedam, cui tres modo filii fuere, Martinus periit turpi cruce, fluctubus Macrinus, Sic abolentur, anus qvi tres modo filii fuere, K. K. The Mariner. Ye winds which sweep the grove's green tops, Oh bend his mast with pleasant gales, Oh leave nae mair the bonnie glen, And faithless is the wind; Then leave nae mair my heart to break 'Mang Scotland's hills behind. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. To a Lady. For me no roseate garlands twine, Enough to know thy place on earth H. TAYLOR. Navita. Venti qvi nemorum culmina verritis Per litus recubantibus. Sponsus noster enim dirigit huc ratem, Qva non ulla fretis pulcrior insilit Ad notum Zephyrus sinum. Tu vallem patriam, tu vitreum cole Et vultu dedimus fidem: Saxis neve tuo sub Caledoniis Fallacisqve maris sciens. Ad Virginem. W. G. C. Parce mihi, virgo, roseas properare corollas, Munera qvae fronti sint magis apta tuae. Aetatemne vides caput hoc contingere? Palma Vel tua prae tali candida palma minus. Sat mihi, terrarum qvacumque habitaveris ora, W. G. C. F The Fond Lover. Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit for shame; this will not move, This cannot take her: If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her. Let who will take her! SUCKLING. In a Churchyard at Elgin. Life is a city with many a street; Death is the market where all men meet: If Life were a thing which gold could buy, The poor could not live, and the rich would not die. Desipiens Amator. Τί χλωρὸς ὧδ', ἐραστά, τί κωφὸς ὧδ', ἄμουσε, παῦσαι τοιαῦτ ̓ ἀλύων μέθες, μέθες μιν ἔρρειν. Κ. Ἐπιτάφιον. Η πόλις ἔσθ' ὁ βίος, πύκα δὲ λαύρῃσι κέκασται, ἐν δ ̓ ἀγορὴ θάνατος πᾶσι βροτοῖσι μία. εἰ δ ̓ ἦν ὠνητὸν χρυσῷ βίος, οὐ πολυχρύσῳ λειπτέος, οὐ πτωχῷ φωτὶ βιωτὸς ἂν ἦν. J. R. |