For the Southern Literary Messenger.
MR. WHITE,—On looking over a young lady's Album a few evenings since, I met with the following lines, of which, with her permission, I immediately took a copy. I now enclose them to you for insertion in the Messenger, hoping that some one of your numerous readers may not only be able to tell me in what language they are written, but let me still further into the secret by giving me a translation of them.
| "'Adhmhur mar dhia neo bhasmhor 'ta "'N t'oglach gu caidreach a shuis re d' sqa: "Sa chluin, sa chìth re faad na hùin "Do bhriara droigheal, 's do fhrea gradh cùin." |
I was also allowed to transcribe from the same source, two other pieces which I send you herewith, under an impression that they are well worthy a place in your interesting miscellany.
* * *
STANZAS
ADDRESSED TO MISS ——.
| Younger heads will bow before thee, Younger hearts than mine adore thee, Younger lips due praises sing thee, Younger hands choice flowers shall bring thee— But when Time's unmelting frost, Once hath chill'd Love's altar-flame, Breasts, to passion's impulse lost, Never after burn the same: Then what has Age like mine to do With youthful Beauty, pretty Lou? Brighter eyes will sparkle near thee, Quicker ears rejoice to hear thee, Gayer forms around thee pressing, Woo thy gentle arms' caressing: But when Fate's severest blow, Bursts the heart's most cherish'd ties; Lays its long-nurs'd wishes low, Hope dismay'd from misery flies: Then what has grief like mine to do With joyous Beauty, pretty Lou? |