The Caledonian.

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,

where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, where the bluebell and gowan lurk lowly unseen; for there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, a list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, and cold Caledonia's blast on the wave;

their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,

what are they? the haunt of the tyrant and slave. the slave's spicy forest and gold-bubbling fountains the brave Caledonian views with disdain;

he wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

BURNS.

Virtue.

I LOVE not vice: but more I hate
the prosers that of virtue prate.
'hate virtuous people!' no, not I:
my wish is, on the contrary,

that all would walk-in virtue's ways,
and cease to talk-in virtue's praise.
From SCHILLER.

Liber homo.

SVAVIA laudabunt alii myrteta coloni,
qua nitidis ridet solibus auctus odor;
carior illa mihi filicum uiret auia uallis,
celat ubi riui flaua genista fugam.
carior illa humilis frondet mihi silua genistae,
quas bellis latebras, quas hyacinthus amat;
inter enim flores illos, ubi uernat acanthis,
saepe leuem celerat nostra Ioanna pedem.
rideat aestiuis peregrina in uallibus aura,
Scotia uentoso frigore uerrat aquas;

silua quid est, celsas redolens quae suspicit aedes?
maesta domus serui, maesta ferocis eri.
aurifluos Scotus fontes et amoena uireta,
seruiles, spectat fortis et odit, opes:
it uagus, it liber, patrio cum flamine, uinclis
solus amor gratis, sola Ioanna, tenet.

Fides.

QVOD tot abest animis mihi displicet, at magis illud,

quod tot inest linguis, trita loquella, Fides.— displicet anne Fides?-credatur ab omnibus oro, deque Fide mundus desinat esse loquax.

The Fortunate Land.

KNOW'ST thou the land, where hangs the citronflower,

where gleams the golden orange in the bower,

where gentle zephyrs in the blue sky play, and myrtles creep beneath the towering bay? know'st thou indeed?

oh there, oh there

would I with thee, my best-beloved, speed.

know'st thou the house, that rests on columns tall, its gay saloon, its glittering banquet-hall,

where marble statues stand and gaze on me:'what have they done, thou hapless child, to thee?' know'st thou indeed?

oh there, oh there

would I with thee, my gentle guardian, speed.

know'st thou the mount, and its cloud-crested

steep,

where poring mules the misty pathway keep;

in caves the dragon hides her ancient brood; down leaps the rock, and over it the flood? know'st thou indeed?

oh there, oh there

our journey tends; my father, let us speed.

From GOETHE.

Schicksal.

Ja, Schicksal, ich verstehe dich:
mein Glück ist nicht von dieser Welt,
es blüht im Traum der Dichtung nur.
du sendest mir der Schmerzen viel,
und gibst für jedes Leid ein Lied.

UHLAND.

Mignonae Cantilena.

AN nota tellus est tibi, qua citri
florent, et atras aurea per comas
dant mala fulgorem, polumque
caeruleum Zephyrus serenat,

myrtusque lauri bracchia suspicit ?
an nota tellus haec tibi? quid procul
moramur? illuc itur: illuc

tecum aueo, mea uita, tolli.

aedesne notae sunt tibi, porticus
altae columnis, atria fulgida,
qua stantque defixae benignoque
intuitu statuae loquuntur:

'heu tristis infans, quid tibi contigit?'
istaene notae sunt tibi? quid diu
moramur? illuc itur: illuc

tecum aueo tua cura tolli.

notumne montis nubiferum caput,
mulo petitum per nebulas iter,
qua sub cauernosis latebris
progenies habitat draconum,

fractisque torrens praecipitat iugis?
notusne mons est hic tibi? sic adhuc
moramur? illuc imus: illuc

quid prohibet, pater alme, tolli?

Δίδου δ ̓ ἀγαθόν τε κακόν τε.

IAM scio quid moneas. perierunt gaudia mundi ; somnia Pieridum sola fruenda manent.

milia tot mihi das, o Fors male fausta, dolorum : sed cum quoque malo das bene fausta melos.

Science.

SCIENCE a goddess is to some,

who shrine her in their heart and head, to others a convenient cow,

that gives them butter for their bread.

From SCHILLER.

The Poet's Blessing.

LISTENING to the lark one day
in the fields I chanced to stray,
and descried a peasant there
labouring hard, with silver hair.

‘blessèd,' cried I, ‘be the soil
fruitful made by faithful toil!
blessed too the faithful hand
that so long hath sown the land!'

he replied, with serious thought,
'poet's blessing profits nought;
from his burning lips are born
flowers in plenty, little corn.'

'nay,' said I, 'the songs we sing flowers, but not too many, bring: bright between the ears they stand for your little grandchild's hand.' From UHLAND.

Music.

LIFE by the Sculptor's art is breath'd;
Mind by the Poet's skill is shown;

but Soul itself to speak belongs,

o Music, to thy voice alone.

From SCHILLER.