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Mens ferrea.

Fons et caussa mei, dic, mens mea, qvid sit amoris :

Ille Neae roseo vernus in ore color ; Mollia curalii vincentia labra ruborem,

Lumina crystalli splendidiora face. Dic etiam tanti

qvae

sit mihi caussa doloris : Mens rigida saxis aemula duritie. Illa pudicitiam monstrat rosa verna genarum ;

Aptaqve sunt teneris mollia verba labris: Provocat ille oculi crystallinus ardor amorem;

Ipse Cupidineo scilicet igne calet.
Sed mihi, qvidqvid ibi pulcri est, habet omne dolorem,

Qvom taceat mentis saxea durities.
Cur mihi, cara, tui tam suave loqvuntur ocelli,

Labraqve blanditiis plena, genaeqve rubor;
Nec tamen est in te nostri medicina doloris ?

Splendida proh nimium dona resume, Venus;
Materiamqve mei luctus vel tolle decorem,
Vel cor, qvale meum est, da qvoqve tale Neae.

K.

Anus.

Vixit anus qvaedam, cui tres modo filii fuere,

Martinus et Macrinus et Macerra.
Martinus periit turpi cruce, fluctubus Macrinus,

Amissus est Macerra nec repertus.
Sic abolentur, anus qvi tres modo filii fuere,
Martinus et Macrinus et Macerra.

K.

The Mariner. Ye winds which sweep the grove's green tops,

And kiss the mountains hoar, Oh softly stir the ocean-waves

That sleep along the shore;
For my love sails the fairest ship

That wantons on the sea;
Oh bend his mast with pleasant gales,

And waft him hame to me.

Oh leave nae mair the bonnie glen,

Clear stream, and hawthorn grove, Where first we walked in gloaming gray,

And sighed and looked of love. For faithless is the ocean-wave,

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,

But wear them, dearest, in my stead; Time hath a whiter hand than thine,

And lays it on my head.

Enough to know thy place on earth

Is there where roses latest die;
To know, the steps of youth and mirth
Are thine, that pass me by.

II. TAYLOR,

Navita.

Venti qvi nemorum culmina verritis
Canentiqve iugo figitis oscula,
Undis parcite longum

Per litus recubantibus.

Sponsus noster enim dirigit huc ratem,
Qva non ulla fretis pulcrior insilit
Afris: O bonus adflet

Ad notum Zephyrus sinum.

Tu vallem patriam, tu vitreum cole
Fontem et dulce nemus, sero ubi vespere
Suspiravimus una

Et vultu dedimus fidem:

Saxis neve tuo sub Caledoniis
Me desiderio neglige inemori,
Fallacisqve Favoni

Fallacisqve maris sciens.

W. G. C.

Ad Virginem.

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,

Parcat hiems serae serior ipsa rosae ; Qvomqve iocus praeter me fugerit atque iuventas, Agnoscam gressus, sat mihi, signa tui.

W. G. C.

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, yourg 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.

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Η πόλις έσθ' ο βίος, πύκα δε λαύρησι κέκασται,

έν δ' άγορή θάνατος πάσι βροτοίσι μία. ει δ' ήν ώνητον χρυσό βίος, ου πολυχρύσω λειπτέος, ου πτωχώ φωτί βιωτός αν ήν.

J. R.

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