REMEMBER OR FORGET

Translated by Sir Tollemache Sinclair from Le Vavasseur. When I am dead, oh ! friends, I you invite (If you recall an hour of my life's flight. In which I have forgotten friendship's debt),

For aye me to forget.

But if some one whilst speaking in my praise, Should chance to say he (that kind soul) always Uttered such soothing words of sympathy.

Ah ! then, remember me.

If they say he was but an egotist, A misanthrope, a cynic by none missed.

In genius he'd no faith, nor yet in men,

You might forget me then.

But if there's one who, judging me with care,

il6 LAAMBS ET SOURIRBS

Says : Friends, oh pray, respect his mem'ry fair, When we were glad, was he not full of glee ?

Ah ! then remember me.

If my poor bones some Hamlet then espies, And says, alas, poor skull, without thine eyes, One always thought thee hollow when we mel,

You might then me forget. It some one else this censure would annul, And says none knew what was in this large skull, He had much wit, none gentler was than he,

Ah ! then remember me.

If some say : here's a wicked man one hates. Who now in hell in torments expiates The vile productions of his venal pen.

You might forget me then.

But if some friend then says : « That is a lie, He'd faith in God, who in his dreams seemed nigh, And when alone he prayed on bended knee »,

Ah ! then remember me.

FOR OR AGAINST, or DEATH OR LIFE

Translated from Désaugiers, by Sir Tollemache Sinclaij'. Let's die, my friends, let's die.

In life all's fuss.

All things bore us, Let's die, my friends, let's die, Now unto death let's fly.

We're born in this world nude, Fame's dreams or gold enthral, Then out of life we're spued.

That is our fate, 'tis all,

Let's die, my friends, let's die.

Now unto death let's fly.

Still, fun and appetite.

Good wine, good cheer and mirth, Good luck, the sex, sunlight, Are only found on earth.

Let's live, my friends, let's live, Not fly from life.

Of joy so rife.

Let's live, my friends, let's live.

Fate ten score years us give!

This life's a garden drear, Where when we want a rose And pluck it without fear.

Some blood from our hands flows.

Let's die, my friends, let's die.

Now unto death let's fly.

But from the gloomy tomb, When sometimes we escape, We live to see the bloom Of corn and rose and grape.

Let's live, my friends, let's live.

Not fly from life.

Of joy so rife, Let's live, my friends, let's live, Fate ten score years us give I

Lady Hamilton',

La Maîtresse de Nelson, dessin appartenant à Sir Tollemaclie Sinclair

(Par Cosway)

LARMES ET SOURlItBS

Two hundred years are long, At that age no joys lure, But when westill are strong, At seven score years or fewer, Let's then die, friends, let's die,

In life's all fuss,

AH things bore us, Let's choose then, shall we die?

I'm not for death, not L

ON THE CENTENARY YEAR OF THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR AND OF THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON. LORD NELSON'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND ON THE EVE OF THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR^

By Sir Tollemache Sinclair. Grand are the thoughts of thee, words of thee, deeds of thee, Charming at sunset thy shores bathed in foam, Ah! my heart warms to thee, beats for thee, clmgs to thee. Welcome! my country's call, England ! dear home ! Beauteous the hills of thee, vales of thee, lakes of thee. There shall no foemen victoriously roam. Ah ! I've borne grief for thee, pain for thee, wounds for thee, I've ever toiled for thee, England, dear home. Europe now looks to thee, sues to thee, cries to thee, Says « We're all slaves but thee, read our sad tome, « Oh send us fleets from thee, troops from thee, funds from thee. » Our triumphs will free them, England, dear home. Just is the sway of thee, rule of thee, law of thee, World-wide's thy fame, thou'rt far greater than Rome, Thy sons give gold for thee, blood for thee, lives for thee,

Base rivals thee slander, England, dear home.

I love the dames of thee, men of thee, tombs of thee,

I cherish each spot of thee, house, tower and dome

Thy sailors' hearts throb for thee, glow for thee, thrill for thee,

^Èach will his duty do,>^ England, dear home.

Fondly 1 muse on thee, long for thee, yearn for thee.

O'er all I love thee, was born on thy loam.

Oh ! I'll oft think of thee, pray for thee, fight for thee,

I'd give my life for thee, England, dear home!

The Nile's battle's fought for thee, gained for thee, prized by thee,

« 'Tis victory, Westminster », or St. Paul's dome,

Foes, two to one may be, they shall flee far from thee,

Trafalgar we'll win or die, Britons, strike home.