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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!

ing;
Are there bees at our willow-tree?

Morn is expanding,
Birds and bees at the trysting-tree?

Hasten away!
Sweet! no denying,

Frowning, or sighing-
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!

Could'st thou be trying
Are the fountains gushing free?

To answer me nay?
Is the south wind wandering

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

ing,
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! Causing to Thirsis so much dismay.

Wile us with a merry glee;
To the flowery haunts of spring-

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,
Spring and flowers at the trysting-tree?

If it war wages,
Thy love assuages

· Terror and pain.
Calm ʼmid the billows' wildest commotion,

I would defy on thy bosom the ocean,
CP, AMARYLLIS!

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.
Morning so still is;
Cool is the gale:
The rainbow of heaven,
With its hues seven,
Brightness hath given

THE ANGLER.
To wood and dale.
Sweet Amaryllis, let me convey thee;

On! the gallant fisher's life,
In Neptune's arms naught shall affray thee;

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:

Other joys
Come out a-fishing; nets forth are carrying;

Are but toys;
Come without tarrying-

Only this
Hasten with me.

Lawful is;
Jerkin and veil in-

For our skill
Come for the sailing:

Breeds no ill,
For trout and grayling,

But content and pleasure.
Baits will lay we.
Awake, Amaryllis! dearest, awaken;

In a morning, up we rise,
Let me not go forth by thee forsaken;

Ere Aurora's peeping;
Our course among dolphins and sirens taken, Drink a cup to wash our eyes,
Onward shall paddle our boat to the sea.

Leave the sluggard sleeping;

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Here are no entrapping baits

Or a laverock build her nest:
To hasten to, too hasty fates;

Here, give my weary spirits rest,
Unless it be

And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
The fond credulity

Earth, or what poor mortals love.
Of silly fish, which (wordling like) still look Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise
Upon the bait, but never on the hook;

Of princes' courts, I would rejoice;
Nor envy, 'less among
The birds, for price of their sweet song. Or, with my Bryan and a book,

Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
Go, let the diving negro seek

There sit by him, and eat my meat;
For gems, hid in some forlorn creek: There see the sun both rise and set;
We all pearls scorn,

There bid good morning to next day;
Save what the dewy morn

There meditate

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.

pass;

And gold ne'er here appears,
Save what the yellow Ceres bears.

my time

IZAAK WALTON.

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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.
A single note, so sweet and low,
Like a full heart's overflow,

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood
Forms the prelude; but the strain To pull the primrose gay,
Gives us no such tone again,

Starts, thy most curious voice to hear,
For the wild and saucy song

And imitates thy lay.
Leaps and skips the notes among,
With such quick and sportive play,

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Ne'er was madder, merrier lay.

Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Gayest songster of the Spring!

Another Spring to hail.
Thy melodies before me bring
Visions of some dream-built land,

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Where, by constant zephyrs fanned,

Thy sky is ever clear; I might walk the livelong day,

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
Embosomed in perpetual May.

No Winter in thy year!
Nor care nor fear thy bosom knows;
For thee a tempest never blows;
But when our northern Summer 's o'er, Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing,
By Delaware's or Schuylkill's shore
The wild rice lifts its airy head,

Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Attendants on the Spring. And royal feasts for thee are spread.

Join Logar.
And when the Winter threatens there,
Thy tireless wings yet own no fear,
But bear thee to more Southern coasts,
Far beyond the reach of frosts.

TO THE CUCKOO.
Bobolink! still may thy gladness
Take from me all taints of sadness;

O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard,
Fill my soul with trust unshaken

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.

Tuomas HILL

While I am lying on the grass,
Thy twofold shout I hear;

From hill to hill it seems to pass,
TO THE CUCKOO.

At once far off, and near.

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !

Thou messenger of Spring !
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

Though babbling only to the vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Soon as the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear.
Last thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery ;

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