Volume I Part 72 (1/2)

'Tis Dorothee, a maid high-born, And lovely as the blus.h.i.+ng morn, Of n.o.ble Sidney's race; Oh! could you see into her mind, The beauties there locked-up outs.h.i.+ne The beauties of her face.

Fair Dorothea, sent from heaven To add more wonders to the seven, And glad each eye and ear, Crown of her s.e.x, the Muse's port, The glory of our English court, The brightness of our sphere.

To welcome her the Spring breathes forth Elysian sweets, March strews the earth With violets and posies, The sun renews his darting fires, April puts on her best attires, And May her crown of roses.

Go, happy maid, increase the store Of graces born with you, and more Add to their number still; So neither all-consuming age, Nor envy's blast, nor fortune's rage Shall ever work you ill.

Edmund Waller [1606-1687]

”O, SAW YE BONNY LESLEY”

O saw ye bonny Lesley As she gaed owre the Border?

She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he couldna scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonny face, And say, ”I canna wrang thee!”

The powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a la.s.s There's nane again sae bonny.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

TO A YOUNG LADY

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid!-- Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes; Pure-bosomed as that watery gla.s.s, And Heaven reflected in her face!

William Cowper [1731-1800]

RUTH

She stood breast high among the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush, Deeply ripened;--such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell.

But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim; Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising G.o.d with sweetest looks:

Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean, Where I reap thou shouldst but glean; Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Share my harvest and my home.

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]