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But, whither means the muse to roam ?
'Tis time to call the wand'rer home.
Who could have thought the nymph would perch her
Up in the clouds with Father Kircher?
So, health and love to all your mansion!
Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in,
The flow of heart, the soul's expansion,
Mirth and song, your board illumine.
At all your feasts, remember too,

When cups are sparkling to the brim,
That here is one who drinks to you,
And, oh! as warmly drink to him.

'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh,

Of slumb'ring with the dead to-morrow
In the cold deep,

Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow
No more shall wake the heart or eye,
But all must sleep.

Well! - there are some, thou stormy bed,
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure;
Oh! most to him,

Whose lip hath drain'd life's cup of pleasure,
Nor left one honey drop to shed
Round sorrow's brim.

Yes he can smile serene at death:
Kind heaven, do thou but chase the weeping
Of friends who love him;

Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping
Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath
No more shall move him.

ODES TO NEA;

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.

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Now float before me, soft and bright

As when they first enamouring shone, What hours and days have I seen glide, While fix'd, enchanted, by thy side, Unmindful of the fleeting day, I've let life's dream dissolve away. O bloom of youth profusely shed! O moments! simply, vainly sped, Yet sweetly too -for Love perfum'd The flame which thus my life consum'd; And brilliant was the chain of flowers, In which he led my victim-hours.

Say, Nea, say, couldst thou, like her, When warm to feel and quick to err, Of loving fond, of roving fonder,

This thoughtless soul might wish to wander,Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim,

Endearing still, reproaching never,

Till ev'n this heart should burn with shame,
And be thy own more fix'd than ever?
No, no on earth there's only one

Could bind such faithless folly fast;
And sure on earth but one alone

Could make such virtue false at last!

Nea, the heart which she forsook,

For thee were but a worthless shrineGo, lovely girl, that angel look

Must thrill a soul more pure than mine. Oh! thou shalt be all else to me,

That heart can feel or tongue can feign; I'll praise, admire, and worship thee, But must not, dare not, love again.

Tale iter omne cave.
PROPERT. lib. iv. eleg. 8.

I PRAY you, let us roam no more
Along that wild and lonely shore,

Where late we thoughtless stray'd;
"Twas not for us, whom heaven intends
To be no more than simple friends,
Such lonely walks were made.

That little Bay, where turning in
From ocean's rude and angry din,
As lovers steal to bliss,

The billows kiss the shore, and then
Flow back into the deep again,

As though they did not kiss.

Remember, o'er its circling flood

In what a dangerous dream we stood
The silent sea before us,
Around us, all the gloom of grove,
That ever lent its shade to love,
No eye but heaven's o'er us!

I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, In vain would formal art dissemble

All we then look'd and thought; 'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas ev'ry thing that young hearts feel, By Love and Nature taught.

I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, A shell that, on the golden sand, Before us faintly gleam'd;

I trembling rais'd it, and when you Had kist the shell, I kist it too

How sweet, how wrong it seem'd!

Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour, The worst that e'er the tempter's power

Could tangle me or you in; Sweet Nea, let us roam no more Along that wild and lonely shore, Such walks may be our ruin.

You read it in these spell-bound eyes, And there alone should love be read; You hear me say it all in sighs,

And thus alone should love be said.

Then dread no more; I will not speak; Although my heart to anguish thrill, I'll spare the burning of your cheek, And look it all in silence still.

Heard you the wish I dar'd to name,

To murmur on that luckless night, When passion broke the bonds of shame,

And love grew madness in your sight?

Divinely through the graceful dance, You seem'd to float in silent song, Bending to earth that sunny glance, As if to light your steps along.

Oh! how could others dare to touch That hallow'd form with hand so free, When but to look was bliss too much, Too rare for all but Love and me!

With smiling eyes, that little thought How fatal were the beams they threw, My trembling hands you lightly caught, And round me, like a spirit, flew.

Heedless of all, but you alone,

And you, at least, should not condemn, If, when such eyes before me shone,

My soul forgot all eyes but them,—

I dar'd to whisper passion's vow,—

For love had ev'n of thought bereft me,— Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow, But, with a bound, you blushing left me.

Forget, forget that night's offence,

Forgive it, if, alas! you can; 'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and sense'Twas all that's best and worst in man.

That moment, did th' assembled eyes

Of heaven and earth my madness view,

I should have seen, through earth and skies, But you alone-but only you.

Did not a frown from you reprove, Myriads of eyes to me were none; Enough for me to win your love,

And die upon the spot when won.

A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.

I JUST had turn'd the classic page,

And trac'd that happy period over, When blest alike were youth and age, And love inspir'd the wisest sage,

And wisdom grac'd the tenderest lover.

Before I laid me down to sleep,

Awhile I from the lattice gaz'd Upon that still and moonlight deep,

With isles like floating gardens rais'd For Ariel there his sports to keep; While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores, The lone night-fisher plied his oars.

1 Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias mentions, in his first book, were those of Epicurus; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities of Athens, "Near this convent (the convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vineyard Garden: these were probably the gardens which Pausanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2.

I felt, s
-SO strongly fancy's power
Came o'er me in that witching hour,—
As if the whole bright scenery there
Were lighted by a Grecian sky,
And I then breath'd the blissful air

That late had thrill'd to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dreamt I,—and when Sleep
Came o'er my sense, the dream went on;
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep,
Hath ever lovelier vision shone.
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade, 1
Where Epicurus taught the Loves

To polish virtue's native brightness, -
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves
Have play'd with, wear a smoother whiteness.?
'Twas one of those delicious nights

So common in the climes of Greece, When day withdraws but half its lights,

And all is moonshine, balm, and peace. And thou wert there, my own belov'd, And by thy side I fondly rov'd Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, And sages sigh'd and lovers thought; Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern, But all was form'd to soothe or move, To make the dullest love to learn,

To make the coldest learn to love.

And now the fairy pathway seem'd

To lead us through enchanted ground,
Where all that bard has ever dream'd

Of love or luxury bloom'd around.
Oh! 'twas a bright, bewild'ring scene-
Along the alley's deep'ning green
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illum'd the bowers,
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves,
Appear those countless birds of light,
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the traveller's weary way. 3
'Twas light of that mysterious kind,

Through which the soul perchance may roam, When it has left this world behind,

And gone to seek its heavenly home.

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And, Nea, thou wert by my side,
Through all this heav'n-ward path my guide.

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we rang'd
That upward path, the vision chang'd;
And now, methought, we stole along

Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever liv'd in Teian song,

Or wanton'd in Milesian story. '

And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs;
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd,
A mute appeal to passion breath'd.
Some flew, with amber cups, around,
Pouring the flowery wines of Crete; 2
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet.3
While others, waving arms of snow

Entwin'd by snakes of burnish'd gold, 4
And showing charms, as loth to show,

Through many a thin Tarentian fold, 5
Glided among the festal throng
Bearing rich urns of flowers along.

Where roses lay, in languor breathing,

And the young beegrape, round them wreathing,
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek.

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3 It appears that in very splendid mansions, the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial: "Calcatusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx." Epig. 50. lib. xii.

• Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament among the women of antiquity. Oi sinagtion oque nai сай χρυσαι πελας θαίδος και Αρισταγόρας και Λαίδος φαρμακα Philostrat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the Beaxiaoi deaxorres. See his Amores, where he describes the dressing-room of a Grecian lady, and we find the "silver vase," the rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the "mystic order" of a modern toilet.

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,7 Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget.

Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller 9 has stray'd.
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to

roam

Through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy home,

Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to

say

Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes.

If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
I would not let a foot come near
My land of bliss, my fairy ground.

If I were yonder conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it plac'd,
I would not let an eye behold
The sacred gem my arms embrac'd.

If I were yonder orange-tree,

And thou the blossom blooming there, I would not yield a breath of thee To scent the most imploring air.

the Muscatell (a muscarum telis)," says Pancirollus, book i. sect. 1. chap. 17.

7 I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the West Indies.

8 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the discoverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century), was sent Patriarch of the Latin church to Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins which he encountered. — Travels of the Jesuits, vol. i. I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch rather too much out of his way.

9 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda ; but the "Account of the European Settlements in America"

5 Tagastividion, diæçæris erdvuæ, NNVOLLATμLEVOV ATO Ts Taçar- affirms it confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this work, however, τίνων χρήσεως και τρυφης. — Pollus.

* Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and "now called

less for its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke.

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The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West but it is quite true enough for poetry. Plato, I think, allows Indies. a poet to be "three removes from truth;" τρίτατος από της 2 The Agave. This, I am aware, is an erroneous notion, antras.

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