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TIDMAS TOD STODDART.
'Round the angler's trysting-tree? Bring rod and line-bring nets for the landUp, sweet thrushes, up and see!
Morn is expanding,
Frowning, or sighing-
Could'st thou be trying
To answer me nay?
Hence, on the shallows, our little boat leavThrough the angler's trysting-tree?
ing, p, sweet thrushes, tell to me!
Or to the Sound where green waves are heavIs there wind up our willow-tree?
ing, Wind or calm at our trysting-tree?
Where our true love its first bond was weav
Wile us with a merry glee;
Step in the boat, then! both of us singing ; To the angler's trysting-tree.
Love afresh springing, Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me!
O'er us shall reign. Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree?
If the storm rages,
If it war wages,
· Terror and pain.
I would defy on thy bosom the ocean,
Or would attend thee to death with devotion
Sing, Oye sirens, and mimic my strain ! WAKEN, thou fair one! up, Amaryllis! .
CARL MICHAEL BELLMANN (Swedish).
Translation of MARY HOWITT.
On! the gallant fisher's life,
It is the best of any : Sleep's god no longer power has to stay thee,
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife, Over thy eyes and speech to prevail.
And 'tis beloved by many:
Are but toys;
For our skill
Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.
In a morning, up we rise,
Ere Aurora's peeping;
Leave the sluggard sleeping;
Here are no entrapping baits
Or a laverock build her nest:
Here, give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love.
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice;
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There bid good morning to next day;
away; Congeals upon each little spire of grass,
And angle on; and beg to have Which careless shepherds beat down as they A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
And gold ne'er here appears,
Floating in the fragrant air,
Delightful visitant! with thee Thou dost fill each heart with pleasure
I hail the time of flowers, By thy glad ecstatic measure.
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy, wandering through the wood
Starts, thy most curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear; I might walk the livelong day,
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No Winter in thy year!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Attendants on the Spring. And royal feasts for thee are spread.
TO THE CUCKOO.
O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice. In that Being who has taken
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Care for every living thing,
Or but a wandering voice? In Summer, Winter, Fall and Spring.
While I am lying on the grass,
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !
Thou messenger of Spring !
And woods thy welcome sing.
Though babbling only to the vale,
Soon as the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear.
Or mark the rolling year?
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!