O will ye tryste wi' me, Annie?
O will ye tryste me then?
I'll meet you by the burn, Annie,
That wimples doon the glen.

I daur na tryste wi' you, Willie,
I maun na tryste ye here,

But we'll hold our tryste in Heaven, Willie,
In the spring time of the year.

SWEET WESTERN WIND.

AYTOUN.

SWEET Western Wind, whose luck it is,

Made rival with the air,

To give Perenna's lips a kiss,

And fan her wanton hair;

Bring me but one, I'll promise thee

Instead of common showers,

Thy wings shall be embalmed by me,

And all beset with flowers.

HERRICK.

quin te constituis mihi

venturam comitem vere novo meam,

ut quondam prope rivuli

ripas per silüam qui trepidat loquax?

ah! non constituam tibi,

nec fas est, soliti margine rivuli.

sed, cum verna aderit dies,

lucis Elysiis consociabimur.

AVRA VENI!

T. J. B. BRADY.

quod tibi, Note, contigit beato, aëris levis aemulo, Perennae

labra basiolis tuis adire,

ventilare tibi comas protervas ;

huc, Note, huc ades, adferas vel unum, sicque di, Note, sic deae me amabunt, ut Iovis minime imbribus madebit

rursus, at tua flosculis renidens

ala turiferas olebit auras.

ROBERT Y. TYRRELL.

TO DELIA.

FAIR the face of orient day,
Fair the tints of opening rose;

But fairer still my Delia dawns,

More lovely far her beauty shews.

Sweet the lark's wild warbled lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;

But, Delia, more delightful still
Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flower-enamour'd busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip:
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip:

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips

Let me, no vagrant insect, rove:

Oh! let me steal one liquid kiss,

For, oh my soul is parch'd with love.

BURNS.

AD DELIAM.

pulcher est solis redeuntis ortus ; pulcher est floris color explicati; pulchrior solem superas rosamque, Delia, pulchram.

dulcis indoctae canor est alaudae; dulcis est lapsus trepidantis undae: dulcior longe tua vox amantis serpit in aurem.

sic apis gaudet studiosa florum ore delibans roseos liquores;

sic Arabs gaudet recreans scatebris

arida labra.

non apis ritu temere avolantis

in tuis labris mihi sit vagari;

hinc sinas haustum rapiam, levemque pectoris ignės.

V. BOULGER.

THE BAIT.

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run, Warm'd by thine eyes more than the sun; And there the enamell'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish which every channel hath
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee than thou him.

Let others freeze with angling-reeds,

And cut their legs with shells and weeds; Or treacherously poor fish beset

With strangling snare or windowy net ;