Borgia, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust.
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold--
Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.

A book was writt of late call'd Tetrachordon ,
And wov'n close both matter, form, and stile,
The subject new; it walk'd the town a while,
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
A title page is this! and som in file
Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder, Sirs, then Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnell, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

There's no helping
Autumn colors slipping imperceptibly by.
Dusk descends on courtyard steps
Strewn with fallen petals and leaves.
Once more the Double Ninth Festival returns,
And I ascend the terrace pavilion
Letting fade the fragrance of dogwood.

Aroma of chrysanthemum wine
Wafting by the hall entrance;
Drizzling rain robed in evening mist.
Wild geese just come back
Honking drearily in the chill air.
Regrets untold — from year to year unchanging.

Last night there was rain with a soughing wind.
In the air was the sound of autumn,
And the screens and curtains rustled.
Again and again I turned on my pillow,
As the candlelight waned, and the clepsydra stopped dripping.
Nor could I compose myself when I sat up.

Worldly affairs simply drift away
In the wake of the running stream:
Methinks my life is but a floating dream.
Fittest to frequent —
The calm Land of Drunkenness.
Other than it, there's no path
I can bear to travel.

The bood is beabig brighdly, love;
The sdars are shidig too;
While I ab gazig dreabily,
Add thigkig, love, of you.
You caddot, oh! you caddot kdow,
By darlig, how I biss you —
(Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got! —
Ck- tish -u! Ck-ck- tish -u!)

I'b sittig id the arbor, love,
Where you sat by by side,
Whed od that calb, autubdal dight
You said you'd be by bride.

1.

" The bonny heir, and the well-faird heir, "
And the weary heir o Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's yetts,
And naebody bids him come in.

2.

" O see for he gangs, an see for he stands,
The weary heir o Linne.
O see for he stands on the cauld casey,
And nae an bids him come in.

3.

" But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld casey,

The bonniest lass that ye meet neist,
Gie her a kiss an' a' that,
In spite o' ilka parish priest,
Repentin' stool, an' a' that.
For a' that an' a' that
Their mim-mou'd sangs an' a' that
In time and place convenient,
They'll do't themselves for a' that.

Your patriarchs in days o' yore,
Had their handmaids an' a' that;
O' bastard gets, some had a score,
An' some had mair than a' that.
For a' that an' a' that,
Your Langsyne saunts, an' a' that,
Were fonder o' a bonny lass
Than you or I, for a' that.

Chorus

Bonie wee thing, canie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, was thou mine;
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Least my Jewel I should tine. —

Wishfully I look and languish
In that bonie face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Least my wee thing be na mine. —
Bonie wee &c.

The bonny wee thing. Subscription in MS Note the first part of the music is repeated, for the Chorus —

Wit, and Grace, and Love, and Beauty,
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!

Spring is going, gone!
Having thankfully bid adieu
To the people of Loyang.
Willow tendrils quivering in the breeze
Wave good-bye;
Clustered orchids drip dew
To wet their handkerchiefs.
And she sits alone,
Knitting her moth-eyebrows.

Bone and Skin,
Two millers thin,
Would starve the town, or near it;--
But be it known
To Skin and Bone
That Flesh and Blood can't bear it.