Nor knew the gulf between— Eight times emerging from the flood No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Not all that tempts your wandering eyes Thomas Gray 228 ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW1 OVES and Graces mourn with me, LOVE Mourn, fair youths, where'er ye be! Dead my Lesbia's sparrow is, 1 Translated by Sir Theodore Martin. Chirruped with such pretty tone. Poor bird, thy doing 'tis, that now My loved one's eyes are swollen and red, Catullus 29 TO A MOUSE ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW, NOVEMBER, 1785 EE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, WEE what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! Bickering brattle: hurrying pace Laith: loath Pattle: paddle (used to clean the plow I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin' Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble An' cranreuch cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Big: build But: without Foggage: grass Thrave: twenty-four sheaves of grain Thy lane: thyself alone Wa's: walls Whiles: sometimes Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna see, Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; gley: wrong, awry Lea'e: leave The same whom in my schoolboy days Which made me look a thousand ways To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; WH While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. |