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Lady Anna was buried in the east,
Giles Collins was buried in the west;
There grew a lily from Giles Collins
That touched Lady Anna's breast, breast,
That touched Lady Anna's breast.

There blew a cold north-easterly wind
And cut this lily in twain,

Which never there was seen before,

And it never will again, again,

And it never will again.

Gammer Gurton.

What's in a Name.

I ASKED my fair, one happy day,

What I should call her in my lay,

By what sweet name, from Rome or Greece; Lalage, Neæra, Chloris,

Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,

Arethusa or Lucrece?

'Ah!' replied my gentle fair,

Beloved, what are names but air?

Choose thou whatever suits the line:

Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,

Call me Lalage, or Doris,

Only, only, call me Thine.'

Coleridge.

Ergo oriens Phoebus tibi calfacit, Anna, sepulcrum;

Ad decedentem sternitur ille Diem:

Sed leve liliolum, nascens Corydonis ab urna,
In gremium dominæ dicitur isse suæ.

Venit ab hiberno furor illacrymabilis Euro,
Et pia decidit basia lilioli;
Surrexit subito, subitoque evanuit, idem
Hospes et infaustæ flosculus exul humi.

H. D.

Πόλλων ὀνομάτων μόρφη μία.

QUONAM nomine vellet illa, nostris
Ut sese canerem in modis, amicam
Rogavi; sit Amanda, sit Melissa,
Græco e fonte petita vel Latino,
Sit Chloris, Nea, Laura, Dorimene,
Seu quamcunque aliam magis probaret?

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'Ah! quid me rogites?' reponit illa:

Nil sunt nomina sola præter auram.

Si qua vox melior sonet canenti,
Hanc dicas, sit Amanda, sit Melissa,
Sit quæcunque alia aptior Camœnæ :
Sed tantum Tua nominer memento.'

F. W.

The Convent.

'Now, men of death, work forth your will, For I can suffer, and be still;

And come he slow, or come he fast,

It is but Death who comes at last.'

Fixed was her look, and stern her air;
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair:
The locks, that wont her brow to shade,
Stand up erectly from her head:

Her figure seemed to rise more high;
Her voice despair's wild energy
Had given a tone of prophecy.
Appalled the astonished conclave sate:
With stupid eyes, the men of fate
Gazed on the light inspired form,
And listened for the avenging storm:
The judges felt the victim's dread;
No hand was moved, no word was said;
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given,

Raising his sightless balls to heaven:-
'Sister, let thy sorrows cease;

Sinful brother, part in peace!'

י!

Scott.

ΤΟ ΜΟΝΑΣΤΗΡΙΟΝ.

ΝΥΝ δ', οἷς προσήκει, δρᾶτέ μ' οἷα δραστέα
ἐπίσταμαι γὰρ κάν κακοῖς στέργειν ὅμως
θάνατος δ ̓ ἐπελθὼν εἴτε θᾶσσον εἴτε μὴ
οὐδὲν πέφυκεν ἄλλο πλὴν θνήσκειν μόνον.
ὧδ' εἶπε, γοργωποῖσιν ἄστροφος κύκλοις

κόμη δ ̓ ἀπ ̓ ὤμων ᾄσσεται· κρατὸς δ ̓ ἄπο

απ

ἔστησεν ὀφρύων βοστρύχους ἐπισκίους δέμας δὲ μεῖζον ᾔρεθ ̓· ὡς δὲ μάντεως ἔῤῥηξεν αὐδὴν ἠγριωμένη κακοῖς.

κύκλος δ' ἐθάμβει ξύνεδρος, ἐμπλήκτοις κόραις

ἐλαφρὸν εἰσορῶντες ἔνθεον δέμας·

τυφῶ δὲ πᾶς τις προσδοκῶν ἀλάστορα, ἤλλαξε, προστροπαῖος ἐκ κριτοῦ, δέος,

οὐ χεῖρα κινῶν, οὐ στόμ ̓· ἔσθ ̓ ὑπ ̓ αἰθέρα
ἄρας ἀδέρκτων ὀμμάτων τυφλὰς κόρας
ἱρεὺς τὸ μοιρόκραντον ἐξηύδα τέλος

ἐς τοῦτ ̓, ἀδελφὴ, σοὶ μὲν ωρίσθω πάθη
σὺ δ ̓, ὦ ταλαῖφρον, βαῖν ̓ ἐπ ̓ εἰρήνῃ, κάσι.

C. J. V.

The Palace of Ice.

No forest fell

When thou would'st build; no quarry sent its stores To enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods, And make thy marble of the glassy wave.

In such a palace Aristæus found

Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale

Of his lost bees to her maternal ear:

In such a palace poetry might place

The armoury of winter, where his troops,
The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet,
Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail.

Silently as a dream the fabric rose,

No sound of hammer or of saw was there;
Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts

Were soon conjoined, nor other cement asked

Than water interfused to make them one.

Lamps gracefully disposed and of all hues

Illumined every side; a watery light

Gleamed through the clear transparency, that seemed

Another moon new-risen, or meteor fallen

From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene.

Cowper.

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