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Far o'er the Sea.

Where are the vintage-songs

Wandering in glee? Where dance the peasant-bands

Joyous and free? Under a kind blue sky Where doth my birth-place lie?

Far o'er the sea.

Where floats the myrtle-scent

O'er vale and lea,
When evening calls the dove

Homewards to flee?
Where doth the orange gleam
Soft on my native stream ?-

Far o'er the sea.

Where are sweet eyes of love

Watching for me, Where o'er the cabin-roof Waves the

green tree? Where speaks the vesper-chime Still of a holy time?—

Far o'er the sea.

Dance on, ye vintage-bands,

Fearless and free;
Still fresh and greenly wave

My father's tree;

Solo in litore secum.

O ubi, qvos celebrat felix vindemia, cantus,

Qvi per agros laeti perqve vagantur aqvas? O ubi ruricolae gaudent titubare choreis,

Libertatis amans laetitiaeqve cohors ? Caeruleisqve almae radiantia risubus aurae

O ubi nativae stant mihi tecta domus ? Ah nimis illa mihi spatiis distantia longis

Invidet inmensum dissociatqve fretum.

O ubi melliflui myrti labuntur odores,

Perqve cavas valles prataqve laeta ruunt; Vesper ubi revocat, Phoebo fugiente, palumbem,

Et monet arboreum rursus adire larem ? O ubi natalem tingentia suaviter undam

Frondibus in propriis aurea poma nitent? Ah nimis illa mihi spatiis distantia longis

Invidet inmensum dissociatque fretum.

O ubi langventes oculi defessaqve longis

Me desideriis pectora cara manent,
Qva super exigvis adoperta mapalia tectis

Suscitat iliceas mobilis aura comas ?
Hesperiasqve sonans longo campana per auras

Murmure adhuc sacrum tempus adesse monet ? Ah nimis illa mihi spatiis distantia longis

Invidet inmensum dissociatque fretum.

Ducere ne cesset laetum vindemia ludum :

Nectite paganos, libera turba, choros. . Undet adhuc felix redivivis frondibus arbor,

Qvam genitor curat, qvam vocat usqve suam.

Still smile, ye kind blue skies,
Though your son pines and dies —
Far o'er the sea !

Mrs. HEMAKS.

The Braes of Yarrowo.

O Yarrow fields, may never rain

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my luve,

My luve, as he'd not been a lover.

Much I rejoyced that waefu' day;

I sang, my voice the woods returning : But lang ere night the spear was flown

That slew my luve, and left me mourning.

Yet, oh, prepare the bed of luve,

With bridal sheets my body cover ; Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband-lover.

But who the expected husband is?

His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter: Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after?

Pale as he is, here lay him down ;

Oh lay his cold head on my pillow;
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids,
And crown my careful head with willow.

HAMILTON.

Indue caeruleos, aether nitidissime, risus,

Et sit adhuc vultu, qvo fuit ante, polus ; Vester ego qvamvis vestrae dulcedinis exsors Conqveror obiectis inmoriorque fretis.

F. M.

Exspectatus Amans.

Hos precor infaustos nunqvam cadat imber in agros,

Nec teneros flores roscidus humor alat: Namqve amor indigna meus est hic morte peremtus,

Hic cecidit, tanqvam non meus esset amor.

Ut male sum laetata, die properante sinistro !

Ut cecini, numeris adsonuitqve nemus! Sed nox multum aberat, puerumqve volatilis hasta

Straverat; et luctu mersa relinqvor ego.

Ast agite, O comites, genialem sternite lectum;

Membra maritalem sindona rite premant. Festinate fores thalami reserare, puellae ;

Exspectatus adest, ingrediatur amans.

Qvis tamen est hic sponsus, hic exspectatus amat.r?

Fallor an effusa dextera caede madet?
Qvae simul exsangvi iuxta venit umbra figura ?

Palla humeris nivea est, ater in ore cruor.

Palleat ah qvamvis, huc vos deponite corpus;

Sustineam collo frigida colla meo :
Meqve meo simul ornatu spoliate iugali;
Laeta parum frons est; hanc tegat apta salix.

II. A. J. M.

The Sleep of the Brave.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest ?
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

COLLINS.

Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke.

Underneath this marble hearse
Lies the subject of all verse ;
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother:
Death, ere thou hast slain another
Fair, and good, and wise as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee!

BEN JUNSON.

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