CXXXVI For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove And when we meet a mutual heart Bid us sigh on from day to day, But busy, busy, still art thou, For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. J. THOMSON CXXXVII The merchant, to secure his treasure, My softest verse, my darling lyre When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my sighs; Ye Banks and Braes Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd: I sung, and gazed; I play'd, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. M. PRIOR CXXXVIII When lovely woman stoops to folly O. GOLDSMITH CXXXIX Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon To see the woodbine twine, And ilka bird sang o' its love; And sae did I o' mine. 141 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, R. BURNS CXL THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take : Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. O Sovereign of the willing soul, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. The Progress of Poesy Thee the voice, the dance, obey The rosy-crowned Loves are seen With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now in circling troops they meet : 143 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Night, and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. In climes beyond the solar road Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, To him the mighty Mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless Child Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. |