A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me, Mary!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

TO LUCASTA,

ON GOING TO THE WARS.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I fice.

True, a new mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you, too, shall adore;

I could not love thee, deare, so much, Loved I not honor more.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

"Believe not what the landmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

"If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

"Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard :

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand. JOHN GAY.

66

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard ;
"O, where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true

If my sweet William sails among the crew."

William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below :

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest :---
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain ;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

HERO TO LEANDER.

O, Go not yet, my love,

The night is dark and vast;

The white moon is hid in her heaven above,
And the waves climb high and fast.

O, kiss me, kiss me, once again,

Lest thy kiss should be the last.

O, kiss me ere we part;

Grow closer to my heart.

My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of

the main.

O joy! O bliss of blisses!

My heart of hearts art thou. Come, bathe me with thy kisses, My eyelids and my brow. Hark how the wild rain hisses,

And the loud sea roars below.

Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs,
So gladly doth it stir;

Thine eye in drops of gladness swims.

I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh;

Thy locks are dripping balm ;
Thou shalt not wander hence to-night,
I'll stay thee with my kisses.
To-night the roaring brine
Will rend thy golden tresses;

The ocean with the morrow light

My mother listening to my sleep

Will be both blue and calm;

Heard nothing but a sigh at night,

LOCHABER NO MORE.

FAREWELL to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more!
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on wear,
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind;

Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained ;
By ease that 's inglorious no fame can be gained;
And beauty and love 's the reward of the brave,
And I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse;
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favor I'd better not be.

I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.