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Caledonia.

O Caledonia ! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child;
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand !
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams are left;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my wither’d cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting groan.

Scorr.

Enigme.

Enfant de l'Art, enfant de la Nature,
Plus je suis vrai, plus je suis imposture;
Sans prolonger la vie, j'empêche de mourir,
Et je deviens trop jeune, à force de vieillir.

VOLTAIRE.

Caledonia.

Dura, poetarum nutrix aptissuma, tellus,

Qvam nemus et rubea vestit erica coma ;
Scotia caeruleis Acheloi laeta fluentis,

Laeta jugis ; patribus Scotia cara meis;
Qvae manus aeterni pia vincula rumpat amoris,

Et memores orae nos vetet esse tuae ?
Singula per notos dum rura revisimus agros,

Et qvae sunt, animo, qvaeque fuere, seqvor, Omnibus amissis tua iam lenimina nobis

Et nemora et purae sola videntur aqvae. Tantum crescit amor qvantum infortunia crescunt;

Hinc magis illa animo cara magisqve meo. ipse eqvidem, nemo si membra senilia ducat,

Ad sacra Varroviae flumina solus eam ;
Notus et Ettriciis veniat modo ventus ab arvis,

Arida brumali torreat ora gelu;
Et prope dilectos, Teviotica saxa, recessus

O liceat solum deposuisse caput,
Qvamqvam vatis erunt aeterna oblivia, qvamqvam
Ultimus aerium spiritus ibit iter !

H. T.

Αίνιγμα. .

Της Τέχνης βρέφος ειμί, Φύσις δε με γείνατο μήτηρ

μάλλον εγώ ψεύδω μάλλον αληθές εόν: ου βίον εκτείνω θνητούς, θάνατον δ' απερύκω, και το μ' άγαν γήρας θήκεν άγαν νεαρόν. .

H. J. H.

Song of Comus.

The star that bids the shepherd fold,
Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream ;
And the slope sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity.
Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine.
Rigour now is gone to bed,
And advice with scrupulous head,
Strict age and sour severity,
With their grave saws, in slumber lie.
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry quire,
Who in their nightly watchful spheres
Lead in swift round the months and years.

Milton.

1

Comus. .

Λαμπρός όδ' αστήρ ο ποτί σταθμούς ποίμνας επάγων, ουρανόν ήδη

μέσον άμβαίνει, κάν εσπερίοις κύμασι πρηνής ο θεός σπεύδει χρυσοφαέννων παύσαι μαλεράν σύριγγα δίφρων, και τηλεφανείς ύπτιος αυγάς πρός κυανειδή πόλος έρριψεν,

τέρμα βαδίζων

θαλάμων τηλoύρον έώων. άγε δή θαλιών χάρις εύστεφάνων κώμων τε μέλη μηδ' ατέρ οίνου των παννυχίων κελάδημα χορών. ροδέoις στέμμασι πάς αναδείσθω κρατός έθειραν, μύρον ενστάξας

και γάνος οίνης Διονύσου. νύν γάρ πάς τις κατεκοιμήθη φθονερός, σοφίας τ' εί τις εραστής

της πολυβούλου. εν δε γερόντων και βαρυθύμων πάν οδυνηρόν γένος αυταίσι

γνώμαις εν ύπνω κατακείται.
δεύτ' ούν υμείς πυρός αιθερίου
καθαροί παίδες, των ουρανίων
άστρων ήδη μιμείσθε χορούς,
οι ταχυδίνoις περιτελλόμενοι

κύκλοισιν έτη
και μήνας άγουσι τελείoυς.

E. H. G.

Styrian Evensong.

Descend, O dewy Even,

On lawn and thirsty lea; To thee our songs are given,

Our pipes are tuned for thee.

And lo, thy blush investeth

The vale with purple gleam, While on the mountain resteth

The sun's departing beam.

Now solemn silence filleth

The earth and waning sky, Save where the woodbird trilleth Her last faint lullaby.

K. (from the German.)

Was ist das Herz ohne Liebe?

Wie ein Land ohne Herrn,
Wie die Nacht ohne Stern,
Wie der Becher ohn' Wein,
Wie der Vogel ohn' Hain,
Wie ohn' Aug' ein Gesicht,

Wie obn' Reim ein Gedidit,
So ohne der Liebe Scherz und Schmerz
Das Herz.

W. MUELLER.

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