52 SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL. O Susan, Susan, lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear : We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass, that still points to thee. Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright : Thus every beauteous object, that I view, Though battle call me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread; GULIELMUS SUSANNE VALEDICENS. Suave meum, et vita Susanna O! charior ipsa, Quo velit, inclinet ventus; te verget ad unam Terra degentes vitam, tua pectora fida In quovis portu, sed noli O! credere, dicent, 53 Sive Indus gemmarum, eboris seu fertilis Afer, Nec, mea lux, doleas; patriæ si causa requirat, Solvere naucleri jussit vox ferrea navem, No longer must she stay aboard : They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head. Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land : Adieu! she cries; and wav'd her lily-hand. TWEED-SIDE. WHAT beanties does Flora disclose! How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, The warblers are heard in the grove, GAY, Dixit uterque, Vale; et lacrymis simul oscula mis cens, Addidit hæc gemitus, ille recline caput. Invita et tarde ad terram Susanna recedit, Et nivea repetit, Vive, valeque! manu, TUEDA. QUAS aperit veneres! quam Flora arridet amœnum, His tamen, his cunctis, formosior una Maria, Non rosa, non violæ, non picto margine bellis, Sylva choris avium resonat vocalis; et omne Virgultum harmonia fervet, et omne nemus. Miscent et merulæ numeros, gemitusque palumbes; Desuper aërios addit alauda modos. Come let us go forth to the mead, Let us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love, where the feathered folks sing. How does my love pass the long day? 'Tis she does the virgins excel, No beauty with her can compare ; Love's graces all round her do dwell; She's fairest, where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray! Oh! tell me, at noon where they feed! Shall I seck them on sweet-winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed? |