Thus let me serve Thee here in time,

And after, in that happier clime,

And Thee, my God, alone!

PAUL GERHARDT. 1759.

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN.

Now spring has clad the grove in green,

And strewed the lea wi' flowers:

The furrowed, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,

Oh why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!

The trout within yon wimpling burn

Glides swift-a silver dart;

And safe beneath the shady thorn

Defies the angler's art.

My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;

106

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD, ETC.

But love wi' unrelenting beam,

Has scorched my fountains dry.

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,

Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine; till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom,

And now beneath the with'ring blast.

My youth and joy consume.

The wakened lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings.

In morning's rosy eye.

As little recked I sorrow's power,

Until the flowery snare

O' witching love, in luckless hour,

Made me the thrall o' care.

Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' men and nature leagued my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whase doom is, hope nae mair,'

What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.

BURNS.

AUGUST.

AEGLOGA OCTAVA.

ARGUMENT.

IN this Aeglogue is set forth a delectable controversie, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: whereto also Virgil fashioned his third and seventh Aeglogue. They chose for umpere of their strife, Cuddy, a neat-heards boye; who, having ended their cause, reciteth also himselfe a proper song, whereof Colin he saith was authour.

WILLIE, PERIGOT, CUDDie.

WILLIE. Tell mee, Perigot, what shalbe the game,
Wherefore with mine thou dare thy musick matche?
Or bene thy bagpypes renne1 farre out of frame?
Or hath the crampe thy ioynts benomd with ache?
PER. Ah! Willie, when the hart is ill assayde,2
How can bagpype or ioynts be well apayde?3
WIL.

3

What the foule evill hath thee so bestad? 4

And wont to make the iolly shepheards glad

With pyping and dauncing did passe the rest. PER. Ah! Willie, now I have learnd a new daunce! My old musick mard by a new mischaunce.

WIL. Mischiefe mought to that mischaunce befall, That so hath raft us of our meriment;

1

But rede 2 me what paine doth thee so apall;

Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglinges miswent? 3 PER. Love hath misled both my younglinges and

me;

I pine for payne, and they my paine to see.

WIL. Perdie and wellawaye! ill may they thrive;
Never knew I lovers sheepe in good plight:

But and if in rymes with me thou dare strive,
Such fond fantasies shall soone be put to flight.

PER. That shall I doe, though mochell worse I

fared:

Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared.

WIL. Then loe, Perigot, the pledge which I plight,
A mazer 5 ywrought of the maple warre,6
Wherein is enchased many a fayre sight

1 Raft, bereft.

2 Rede, tell.

Mochell, much.

5 Mazer, bowl.

3 Miswent, gone astray.

6 Warre, ware.

Of bears and tygers, that maken fiers warre; And over them spred a goodly wilde vine, Entrailed with a wanton yvy twine.

Thereby is a lambe in the wolvës iawes;

But see, how fast renneth the shepheard swain To save the innocent from the beastes pawes, And here with his sheepehooke hath him slain. hast thou ever seene ?

Tell me, such a cup

Well mought it beseeme any harvest queene.
PER. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted lambe;
Of all my flocke there nis sike1another,

For I brought him up without the dambe;

But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, That he purchast of me in the plaine field; Sore against my will was I forst to yeeld.

WIL.

Sicker,2 make like account of his brother; But who shall iudge the wager wonne or lost? PER. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none other, Which over the pousse 3 hetherward doth post. WIL. But, for the sunnbeame so sore doth us beate, Were not better to shunne the scortching heate? PER. Well agreed, Willie; then set thee downe, swayne;

1 Nis sike, is not such.

2 Sicker, surely.

Pousse, pease.