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 Soft on my native stream?— Where are sweet eyes of love Waves the green tree? 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, O ubi melliflui myrti labuntur odores, O ubi langventes oculi defessaqve longis Murmure adhuc sacrum tempus adesse monet? Ducere ne cesset laetum vindemia ludum: Qvam genitor curat, qvam vocat usqve suam. Still smile, ye kind blue skies, Far o'er the sea! MRS. HEMANS. The Braes of Yarrow. 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: Yet, oh, prepare the bed of luve, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 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, 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! Ast agite, O comites, genialem sternite lectum; Qvis tamen est hic sponsus, hic exspectatus amator? Qvae simul exsangvi iuxta venit umbra figura ? Palleat ah qvamvis, huc vos deponite corpus ; Lacta parum frons est; hanc tegat apta salix. H. A. J. M. The Sleep of the Brave. How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung; COLLINS. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke. Underneath this marble hearse BEN JONSON. |