MY MOPSA IS LITTLE.'

BY PHILODEMUS.

My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown,

But her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft down,
And, for blushing, no rose can come near her;
In short, she has woven such nets round my heart,
That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can part, —
Unless I can find one that's dearer.

Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear,
And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear,
That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her;

Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own net,

And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne'er shall forget-
Till I light upon lips that are sweeter.

But 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone,
'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose eloquent tone
From the depths of the grave could revive one:
In short, here I swear, that if death were her doom,
I would instantly join my dead love in the tomb-
Unless I could meet with a live one.

STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALLING."
BY MELEAGER.

STILL, like dew in silence falling,

Drops for thee the nightly tear;

Μικρη και μελανεύσα Φιλίννιον.

Ap. BRUNCK. X.

2

Αιει μοι δυνει μεν εν ουασιν ηχος Ερωτος.

Ap. BRUNCK. liii.

Still that voice the past recalling,
Dwells, like echo, on my ear,
Still, still!

Day and night the spell hangs o'er me,
Here for ever fix'd thou art;
As thy form first shone before me,
So 'tis graven on this heart,
Deep, deep!

Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness,
Dooms me to this lasting pain,
Thou who cam'st with so much fleetness,
Why so slow to go again?1
Why? why?

1

UP, SAILOR BOY, "TIS DAY.

UP, sailor boy, 'tis day!

The west wind blowing,

The spring tide flowing, Summon thee hence away.

Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? Chirp, chirp,-in every note he seem'd to say "Tis Spring, 'tis Spring.

Up, boy, away,

Who'd stay on land to-day?

Ω πτανοι, μη και ποτ' εφιπτασθαι μεν, Ερωτες,
Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' ουδ' όσον ισχνετε.

Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, "Let us fly;" While soft the sail, replying to the breeze,

Says, with a yielding sigh,

"Yes, where you please."

Up, boy! the wind, the ray,
The blue sky o'er thee,
The deep before thee,
All cry aloud, "Away!"

IN MYRTLE WREATHS.

BY ALCEUS.

IN myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover,
Like them of old whose one immortal blow

Struck off the galling fetters that hung over
Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low.
Yes, lov'd Harmodius, thou'rt undying;

Still midst the brave and free,

In isles, o'er ocean lying,

Thy home shall ever be.

In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its lightning,
Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade
Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet bright'ning,
And in the dust a despot victim laid.
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story

Your wedded names shall be ;

A tyrant's death your glory,

Your meed a nation free!

ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE.

ASK not if still I love,

Too plain these eyes have told thee;

Too well their tears must prove

How near and dear I hold thee.

If, where the brightest shine,

To see no form but thine,
To feel that earth can show

No bliss above thee, —

If this be love, then know

That thus, that thus, I love thee.

'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour

That thou canst know affection's pow'r.
No, try its strength in grief or pain;

Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever,
Thou'lt find true love's a chain

That binds for ever!

DEAR? YES.

DEAR? yes, though mine no more,
Ev'n this but makes thee dearer;
And love, since hope is o'er,

But draws thee nearer.

Change as thou wilt to me,
The same thy charm must be
New loves may come to weave
Their witch'ry o'er thee,
Yet still, though false, believe

That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. Think'st thou that aught but death could end A tie not falsehood's self can rend?

No, when alone, far off I die,

No more to see, no more caress thee,

Ev'n then, my life's last sigh

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee.

UNBIND THEE, LOVE.

UNBIND thee, love, unbind thee, love, From those dark ties unbind thee; Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, Too long its links have twin'd thee. Away from earth!-thy wings were made In yon mid-sky to hover,

With earth beneath their dove-like shade, And heav'n all radiant over.