ROBERT BURTON.

When I go musing all alone,

Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the air,

Void of sorrow, void of care,

Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.

All my joys to this are folly;
Nought so sweet as melancholy.

When I go walking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill-done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannize,
Fear and sorrow me surprise;
Whether I tarry still, or go,
Methinks the time moves very slow.
All my griefs to this are jolly;
Nought so sad as melancholy.

When to myself I speak and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.

All my joys besides are folly;
None so sweet as melancholy.

IMITATION BY J. S. S. ROTHWELL.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder;

Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!"

Every care,

Every grief,

Every pain,

All is swept away!

The tumult of the world,

The earth itself dissolves

Into one sweet feeling of pure delight:
He comes! oh he comes to-night!

Every look absorbs

The bustling time,
When eye and heart
Hang upon the dial,
And concentrate

All that is of life

Into a single thought of sweet delight:
He comes! oh, he comes to-night!

L. UHLAND,

translated by J. S. S. Rothwell.

Oh, how I love the fine, mild days,
In the earliest youth of Spring;
The sky is bright with sunny rays,
Dispensing life to every thing.
The valleys still from frost are gray,
The hills begin to don their green,
The maidens venture out quite gay,
And children at their sports are seen.

Then, on the mountain top I stray,
And view it all in silence sweet;
My heart well feels kind nature's sway,
That tells me what for me were meet.
I am a child, and love to gaze
On nature in her varied mood,
At morn, at eve, in summer's blaze,
My soul delights in vale and wood.