The fagot sent for, when the fire grew dim, FROM ANACREON. To all, that breathe the air of heaven, She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; Then what, O woman! what for thee MOORE. A WEDDED LOVE. ND are ye sure the news is true? Is this a time to talk o' wark? Ye jades, fling by your wheel! Rise up, and make a clean fireside, Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown, And make their shoon as black as slaes, It's all to please my ain gude man, He likes to see them braw. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? The cauld blasts o' the winter wind, The present moment is our ain, The neist we never saw. FICKLE AFFECTION. OUR love was like the snow-flakes Which melt before you pass, Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks Before you lip the glass. M. PRAED. T is the first fine day of March; Love now, an universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth; One moment now may give us more Than fifty years of reason: Our minds will drink at every pore The spirit of the season. Some silent laws our hearts will make, Which they shall long obey, We for the year to come may take WORDSWORTH. LILY OF THE VALLEY. BUT chief, sweet Lily of the Vale, LILY OF THE VALLEY. STOOPING Lilies of the Valley, That love with shades and dews to dally, CLARE. |