The Lake has burst.

The lake has burst! the lake has burst!

Down through the chasms the wild waves flee;
They gallop along,

With a roaring song,

Away to the eager awaiting sea!

Down through the valleys, and over the rocks,
And over the forests, the flood runs free;
And wherever it dashes,

The oaks and the ashes

Shrink, drop, and are borne to the hungry sea!

The cottage of reeds and the tower of stone,
Both shaken to ruin, at last agree;

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,
He bellows aloud to the misty sky;

And the sleep-buried Thunder
Awakens in wonder,

And the Lightning opens her piercing eye!

There is death above, there is death around,
There is death wherever the waters be;

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
Exsultim et inmissis habenis

Agmine prono eqvitant liqvores,

Bacchantium cum murmure fluctuum,
Dudum vocantem visere Nerea.
Per saxa depressasqve valles,
Per siluas furit expedito

Humore torrens amnis: et inpetus
Tumultuantem qva tulit, ilices
A stirpe convulsas et ornos
Traxit ad oceanum voracem :

Regumqve turres tectaqve pauperum
Tandem ruinae conciliant pares;

Fatoqve consortes eodem

Cum famulis domini per unam

Stragem in superbos, ceu stipulae leves,
Volvuntur aestus. Vorticibus furit
Neptunus, et cristas comantes

Fluctubus aeriasqve torqvens

Spumas opacum nubibus ad polum
Inmugit omnis: qvo fremitu Pater
Erectus excusso sopore

Fulminat et iaculatur ignes:

Supraqve circumqve exitium ingruit,
Qvocumqve cursum praecipitant aqvae;
Tellusqve caelumqve et tremendas
Ira maris glomerat ruinas.

T. S. E.

The Lea-Rig.

When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin'-time is near, my jo ;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and weary, O!
Down by the burn, where scented birks
Wi' dew are hangin' clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour
I'd rove and ne'er be eerie, O!
If through that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie, O!

Although the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae weary, O!
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

The hunter lo'es the mornin' sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Alang the burn to steer, my jo.
Gi'e me the hour of gloamin' gray,
It makes my heart sae cheerie, O!
To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, O!

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
Nimio lassus aratro;

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
Pede fesso titubarem, tamen adsueto ibi in agro
Mea, me, lux, reperires.

Amat ortus redeuntes nemorosarum agitator Caprearum; petit aestu medio flumen et umbras Sibi piscator amicas:

At ego vesperis horam tenebrosam celebrabo,
Mihi qvae langvidulum cor recreabit, mihi qvae te
Revocabit, Neobule.

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!
'Twas from her cheeks that shame the rose;
From lips that spoyle the rubie's prayse;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes my woe, as freely owne:
Ah, me! 'twas from a heart lyke stone.

The blushyng cheek speakes modest mynde,
The lips befitting wordes most kynde;
The eye does tempte to love's desyre,
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 cheeke,
Yet not a hearte to save my paine?

O Venus! take thy giftes again;
Make not so faire to cause our moane,
Or make a hearte that's like our owne.

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, Jerry and James and John.

GAMMER GURTON.