SANS SOUCI. By L. E. L. COME ye forth to our revel by moonlight, Stars weep e'er our last day in June. Braid ye your curls in their thousands, On each snow ankle lace silken sandal, Don the robes like the neck they hide white; Then come forth like planets from darkness, Or like lilies at day-break's first light. Is there one who half regal in beauty, No rubies are equal to them. Is there one who sits languid and lonely, And careless locks 'scaped from their band. For a lover not worth that eye's tear-drop, Not worth that sweet mouth's rosy kiss, Nor that cheek though 'tis faded to paleness; I know not the lover that is. Let her bind up her beautiful tresses; Call her wandering rose back again; And for one prisoner 'scaping her bondage, A hundred shall carry her chain. Come, gallants, the gay and the graceful, With hearts like the light plumes ye wear; Eyes all but divine light our revel, Like the stars in whose beauty they share. Come ye, for the wine cups are mantling, Some clear as the morning's first light; Others touched with the evening's last crimson, Or the blush that may meet ye to night. There are plenty of sorrows to chill us, If extinct, you need only light more. When one vein of silver's exhausted, There are fountains enough in the desert, Come to-night, for the white blossomed myrtle Is flinging its love-sighs around; And beneath like the veiled eastern beauties, The violets peep from the ground. Seek ye for gold and for silver, There are both on these bright orange-trees; And never in Persia the moonlight Wept o'er roses more blushing than these. There are fireflies sparkling by myriads, The fountain wave dances in light; Hark! the mandolin's first notes are waking, And soft steps break the sleeping of night. Then come all the young and the graceful, Come gay as the lovely should be, 'Tis much in this world's toil and trouble, To let one midnight pass Sans Souci. SCOTLAND, AN ODE, WRITTEN AFTER THE KING'S VISIT TO THAT COUNTRY. By Robert Southey, Esq. Poet Laureat. 1. AT length hath Scotland seen The presence long desired; The pomp of royalty Hath gladdened once again Her ancient palace, desolate how long! From all parts far and near, Highland and lowland, glen and fertile carse, Her populous cities and her pastoral hills, By the free impulse of the loyal heart 2. Land of the loyal, as in happy hour Revisited, so was thy regal seat In happy hour for thee Forsaken, under favouring stars, when James G |