But give the cock a blow
Who did begin our woe!”

ANONYMOUS.  From the Chinese. 
Translation of WILLIAM.  R. ALGER.

LOCHABER NO MORE.

Farewell to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We’ll maybe return to Lochaber no more! 
These tears that I shed they are a’ for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on wear,
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
They’ll ne’er make a tempest like that in my mind;
Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar,
That’s naething like leaving my love on the shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained;
By ease that’s inglorious no fame can be gained;
And beauty and love’s the reward of the brave,
And I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse;
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? 
Without it I ne’er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favor I’d better not be. 
I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I’ll bring a heart to thee with love running o’er,
And then I’ll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

AS SLOW OUR SHIP.

As slow our ship her foamy track
  Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trembling pennant still looked back
  To that dear isle ’twas leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love,
  From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,
  To those we’ve left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanished years
  We talk with joyous seeming,—­
With smiles that might as well be tears,
  So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again
  Each early tie that twined us,
O, sweet’s the cup that circles then
  To those we’ve left behind us!

And when, in other climes, we meet
  Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,
  And naught but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss
  If Heaven had but assigned us
To live and die in scenes like this,
  With some we’ve left behind us!

As travellers oft look back at eve
  When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave
  Still faint behind, them glowing,—­
So, when the close of pleasure’s day
  To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
  Of joy that’s left behind us.

THOMAS MOORE.

QUA CURSUM VENTUS.

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay
  With canvas drooping, side by side,
Two towers of sail at dawn of day
  Are scarce long leagues apart descried.