"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear!

My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear:

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass, that still points to thee.

"Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present, wheresoe'er I go.

"If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright: Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale;

Thy skin is ivory so white:

Thus every beauteous object, that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charms of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms

William shall to his dear return;

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

"Suave meum, et vita Susanna o carior ipsa,
Sunt mea, quæ vovi, sunt tibi vota rata ;
Pendentem ex oculo da gemmam exosculer illam :
Gratior ut reditu sit, Gulielmus abit.

Quo velit, inclinet ventus; te verget ad unam
Cor meum, ut ad boream nautica vergit acus.

"Terra degentes vitam, tua pectora fida Tentabunt dubio solicitare metu:

In quovis portu (sed noli o! credere) dicent, Nauta, quod accendat mobile pectus, habet. Quin o! quin credas; quodcunque invisero littus, Tu mihi, tu præsens ignis et ardor eris.

"Sive Indus gemmarum, eboris seu fertilis Afer, Seu mihi visendus dives odoris Arabs :

Esse domi cunctas tecum reputabo relictas,
Quas ostentet Arabs, Afer, et Indus, opes.
Quodcunque egregium, pulchrum, vel dulce videbo,
Occurret quiddam, quod memorabo, tui.

"Nec, mea lux, doleas; patriæ si causa requirat,
Ut procul amplexu poscar ad arma tuo ;
Qui tibi, bellorum qui fulmine tutus ab omni,
Post aliquot menses restituendus ero.
Ne dulces istos contristet fletus ocellos,

Mille avertendo tela, cavebit Amor.”

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:

They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head. Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land : "Adieu!" she cries; and wav'd her lily hand.

TWEED-SIDE,

BY ROBERT CRAWFORD.

WHAT beauties does Flora disclose!

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed!
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy, nor sweet-blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed, gliding gently through those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush
The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove,
With music enchant every bush.

;

Solvere naucleri jussit vox ferrea navem,
Vela tumescentes explicuere sinus:

Dixit uterque, vale; et lacrymis simul oscula miscens, Addidit hæc gemitus, ille recline caput.

Invita et tarde ad terram Susanna recedit,

Et nivea repetit, "Vive, valeque," manu.

TUEDA.

QUAS aperit veneres! quam Flora arridet amœnum,
Ad placidam Tueda lene fluentis aquam !
His tamen, his cunctis, formosior una Maria,
Naturæ pariter vincit et artis opes.

Non rosa, non violæ, non picto margine bellis,
Totaque luxuries, qua variatur humus ;
Non, quæ subrepens blando interlabitur agros
Flumine, tam suavi Tueda decore nitet.

Sylva choris avium resonat vocalis; et omne Virgultum harmonia fervet, et omne nemus. Miscent et merulæ numeros, gemitusque palumbes ; Desuper aërios addit alauda modos.

Come, let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love, where the feathered folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep?

Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest,
Kind nature indulging my bliss ;
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

"Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her can compare; Love's graces all round her do dwell;

She's fairest, where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?

Oh! tell me, at noon where they feed? Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?