The Daisy. There is a flower, a little flower, The prouder beauties of the field. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, The purple heath and golden broom But this bold flow'ret climbs the hill, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. Inest sua gratia parvis. Parvulus in pratis flos est: nitor ardet ocelli Qvae magis eximiis decorat splendoribus agrum, Attamen haec florum Matri dilecta propago, Cynthia dum cursum volvit et astra manent, Innectit foliis anni revolubilis orbem, Et comes it rapidis solis ubiqve rotis. In gremio ridet Maii dilecta voluptas, Montibus in solis splendescens captat erica Et violam in latebris concava vallis alit. Flos tamen hic audax colles conscendit, opaco Conditur in saltu, tesqva reducta tenet, Ludit ad inclusum praetexto margine rivum, Vulpis et ante cavas exserit ora domos. Within the garden's cultured round The lambkin crops its crimson gem, "Tis Flora's page: in every place, On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise: The rose has but a summer-reign; The daisy never dies. J. MONTGOMERY. Das Wesen des Epigramms. Bald ist das Epigramm ein Pfeil, Trifft mit der Spitze; Ist bald ein Schwert, Trifft mit der Schärfe; Ist manchmal auch-die Griechen liebten's so Ein klein' Gemäld, ein Strahl, gesandt Zum Brennen nicht, nur zum Erleuchten. KLOPSTOCK. Qva variis cultura replet splendoribus hortos, Puniceum teneris calycem depascitur agna Gemma, deae famulata suae, qvocumqve sub axe, Pandit inexhaustos anno redeunte nitores: Per scopulos solumqve nemus perqve aeqvora campi Non nisi in aestivo regnat rosa lumine solis; G. D. Epigramma quale sit. Nunc Epigramma ferit figentis more sagittae; Martinmas. It is the day of Martelmas; Some do the city now frequent, Where costly shows and merriment Do wear the vapourish evening out With interlude and revelling rout, Such as did pleasure England's queen, When here her royal grace was seen; Yet will they not this day let pass, The merry day of Martelmas. When the daily sports be done, Martelmas shall come again, Spite of wind and snow and rain; |