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I wish we twa had never met,

My heart had ne'er been sair, Katy ; I ne'er will that sad thought forget,

“We'll maybe meet nae mair, Katy." My widow'd heart is lanely now,

Tho' ance frae sorrow free, Katy, But it will keep its warmest vow,

Ne'er to love ane but thee, Katy.

O ! ance I form'd the fond, fond thought,

That we wad live in bliss, Katy,
And meet the joy we sweetly sought,

And no a fate like this, Katy.
We then had pass’d our hours wi' glee,

Nae sorrow dar'd attend, Katy ;
Thou'd been my life my a' to me,

My sweetheart and my friend, Katy.

When stretch'd upon a friendless bed,

Pain writhes this frame o' mine, Katy, I'll sigh— I canna lay my head

Ou ony breast but thine, Katy.
I'll suffer sairly Love's keen powers,

And mourn the joy that's gane, Katy; For nane can cheer my lanely hours,

But you, and you alane, Katy.

• I've travers'd many a distant clime;

And happy did I feel Katy; But, oh! it is a trying time,

When lovers bid fareweel, Katy.

But aye this hope will warm my heart,

That you will aye be true, Katy;
We'll may be meet nae mair to part

But 'tis a lang adieu, Katy.

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THIS BOTTLE'S THE SUN OF OUR TABLE.

This bottle's the Sun of our table,

His beams are rosy wine ;
Wes--planets, that are not able

Without his help to shine.

Let mirth and glee abound,

You'll soon grow bright

With borrow'd light,
And shine as he goes round.

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The song that lightens the languid way,

When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing,
Is like the spell of hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.
The beam's that flash on the oar awhile,

As we row along thro' waves so clear,
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile

That shines on sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him, who sees

With an eye that fecling gave ;-
For him there's a story in every breeze,

And a picture in every wave.
Then sing, to lighten the languid way;

When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing,
'Tis like the spell of hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.

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I WHISPER’D HER MY LAST ADIEU t.

I whisper'd her my last adieu,
I gave a mournful kiss ;

Cold show'rs of sorrow bath'd her eyes, a

And her poor heart was torn with sighs ; Yet-strange to tell—'twas then I knew,

Most perfect bliss.

p" Luis De Camoens, the author of this and the following effusion, was born at Lisbon about the year 1524. His misfortunes began with his birth, for he never saw the smile of a father, Simon Vaz De Camoens having pe. rished, by shipwreck, in the very year which gave birth to his son. Notwith. standing the diminution of wealth, which the family sustained in consequence of this event, the youthful Camoens was sent to the University of Coimbra' and maintained there by the provident care of his surviving parent.

“ Having received an education suited to his birth, he returned to Lisbon. Here he had not remained long till he beheld Dona Caterina de Ataide, one of the Queen's ladies, and the object of his purest and earliest attachment, and on whom he composed the greater part of his minor productions. From the peculiar situation in which she was placed, it was sometime before he could enjoy an opportunity of declaring his affection. The restraint he was under at length became intolerable, and having been detected in a viola.

he royal precincts, was in consequence banished from the court. But Love prepared consolation for its votary, where least he expected it. On the morning of his departure, his mistress, throwing aside the delicacy of her sex, confessed her long concealed afilection. The sighs of grief were soon lost in those of mutual delight, and the hour of parting was, perhaps, the sweetest

For love at other times suppressid,
Was all betray'd at this

I saw him weeping in her eyes,

I heard him breathe amongst her sighs,
And every sob which shook her breast,

Thrill'd mine with bliss.

of our poet's existence. Thus comforted, he removed to Santarem, the scene of his banishment, but speedily and secretly returned, again tasted of happiness, was a second time detected, and a second time driven into exile. To such a spirit as Camoens, the inactivity of this situation must have been insupportable; it was not long, however, till he received intelligence of an ex. pedition fitting out against the Moors in Africa, he accordingly sought and obtained permission to accompany it; here, whilst bravely fighting under the command of a near relation, he was deprived of his right eye, by some splinters from the deck of the vessel in which he was stationed. Many of his most pathetic compositions were written during this campaign, and the toils of a martial life were sweetened by the recollection of her for whom they were endured.

“ His heroic conduct in many engagements at length purchased his recal to court. He hastened home, fraught with the most tender anticipations, and found (what must have been his feelings?) that his mistress was no more!

“ There can scarcely be conceived a more interesting theme for the visions of romance than the death of this young and amiable being. She loved, and was beloved, yet unfortunate in herattachment,-she was torn from the world at the early age of twenty--but her lot was enviable, compared to that of her lover. The measure of his sorrow was yet imperfect. He had still to encounter the cruel neglect of that nation, whose glory kis valour had contributed to maintain. The claims of mere merit are too often disregarded, but those which are founded on the gratitude of courts are hopeless indeed! Years were passed by Camoens in unsuccessful application for the reward which his services demanded, and in suing for his rights at the feet of men whom he could not but despise. This was a [degradation which his high spirit knew not how to endure, and he accordingly bade adieu to Portugal, to seek, under the burning suns of India, that independence which his own country de nied.

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