Thou too, if e'er thy youthful ear
Thrilled the Latian lay to hear,
Lulled to slumber in that cave,

Shalt hail the nymph that held the wave;
A goddess, who there deigned to meet
A mortal from Rome's regal seat,
And o'er the gushing of her fount
Mysterious truths divine to earthly ears recount.

CCLVIII. ROBERT BURNS, 1759—1796,
1. LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out owre the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;

The merlè, in his noontide bower,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis mild, wi' mony a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest,
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae:
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;

But I, the queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the

queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been,

Fu' lightly rose I in the morn.
As blythe lay down at e'en :

And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;

Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That through thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor the balm that drops on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son !

my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

2. HIGHLAND MARY.

Ye banks and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers.
Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfall her robes,
And there the langest tarry ;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay.
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

3. BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS.
Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front of battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him follow me!