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'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh,
Of slumbering 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 misery'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.

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ODES TO NEA;

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.

Νέα τυραννει.

EURIPID. Medea, v. 967.

NAY, tempt me not to love again :
There was a time when love was sweet;
Dear Nea! had I known thee then,
Our souls had not been slow to meet!
But, oh! this weary heart hath run,

So many a time the rounds of pain,
Not even for thee, thou lovely one!
Would I endure such pangs again.

If there be climes where never yet
The print of Beauty's foot was set,
Where man may pass his loveless nights
Unfever'd by her false delights-
Thither my wounded soul would fly,

Where rosy cheek or radiant

eye

Should bring no more their bliss, their pain,
Or fetter me to earth again!

Dear absent girl! whose eyes of light,
Though little prized when all my own,
Now float before me, soft and bright

As when they first enamouring shone!
How many hours of idle waste,
Within those witching arms embraced,
Unmindful of the fleeting day,
Have I dissolved life's dream away!
O bloom of time profusely shed!
O moments! simply, vainly fled,
Yet sweetly too- for love perfumed
The flame which thus my life consumed;
And brilliant was the chain of flowers
In which he led my victim hours!

Say, Nea dear! couldst thon, like her,
When warm to feel and quick to err,
Of loving fond, of roving fonder,
My thoughtless soul might wish to wander—
Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim,

Endearing still, reproaching never,
Till all my 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 't is I 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, winding in From Ocean's rude and angry din

(As lovers steal to bliss),

The billows kiss the shore, and then Flow calmly to 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 e'er was spread for guilt or love,
No eye but Nature's o'er us!

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

All that we wish'd and thought;
'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal,
T was more than virtue ought to feel,
But all that passion ought!

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

I raised it to your lips of dew,
You kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too-
Good Heaven! how sweet it seem'd!

Oh! trust me, 't was a place, an hour,
The worst that e'er temptation's power
Could tangle me or you in!
Sweet Nea! let us roam no more
Along that wild and lonely shore,
Such walks will be our ruin!

You read it in my languid 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, spare the burning of your cheek, And look it all in silence still!

lleard you the wish I dared 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 beamy 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 Heaven 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, I wildly turn'd,

My soul forgot-nor, oh! condemn,
That when such eyes before me burn'd,
My soul forgot all eyes but them!

I dared to speak in sobs of bliss,

Rapture of every thought bereft me,

I would have clasp'd you-oh, even this!— But, with a bound, you blushing left me. Forget, forget that night's offence,

Forgive it, if, alas! you can,

'T was love, 't was passion-soul and sense— "T was all the best and worst of man!

That moment did the mingled 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;

I should have-oh, my only love!
My life! what should I not have done?

A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.

I JUST had turn'd the classic page,

And traced that happy period over, When love could warm the proudest sage, And wisdom grace the tenderest lover! Before I laid me down to sleep,

Upon the bank awhile I stood,
And saw the vestal planet weep

Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
My heart was full of Fancy's dream,
And, as I watch'd the playful stream,
Entangling in its net of smiles
So fair a group of elfin isles,

I felt as if the scenery there

Were lighted by a Grecian skyAs if I breathed the blissful air

That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!

And now the downy hand of rest
Her signet on my eyes imprest,
And still the bright and balmy spell,
Like star-dew, o'er my fancy fell!
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene luxurious shade, '
Where Epicurus taught the loves

To polish Virtue's native brightness,
Just as the beak of playful doves

Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness!

GASSENDI thinks that the gardens which Pausanias mentions, in his first Book, were those of Epicurus: and STUART Says, in bis Antquities of Athens, « Near this convent (the convent of Hagios Assomatos) is the place called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos K pos, or the Vineyard Garden; these were probably the gardens which Pausanias visited.-Chap. ii, vol. 1.

This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhile to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful CARDANES, de Rerum Varietat. lib. vii, cap. 34.

"T was 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 beloved!
And dearly by thy side I roved
Through many a temple's reverend gloom,
And many a bower's seductive bloom,
Where beauty blush'd and wisdom taught,
Where lovers sigh'd and sages thought,
Where hearts might feel or heads discern,
And 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! 't was a bright bewildering scene-
Along the alley's deepening green,

Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illumed the bowers
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves,
Appear the countless birds of light,
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the traveller's weary way!'
'T was light of that mysterious kind,

Through which the soul is doom'd to roam When it has left this world behind,

And gone to seck its heavenly home! And, Nea, thou didst look and move, Like any blooming soul of bliss, That wanders to its home above Through mild and shadowy light like this!

But now, methought, we stole along Through halls of more voluptuous glory Than ever lived in Teian song,

Or wanton'd in Milesian story! a And nymphs were there, whose very eyes Seem'd almost to exhale in sighs; Whose every little ringlet thrill'd, As if with soul and passion fill'd! Some flew, with amber cups, around, Shedding the flowery wines of Crete, 3 And, as they pass'd with youthful hound, The onyx shone beneath their feet! 4 While others, waving arms of snow Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold, 5

In Hercynio Germania salta inusitata genera alitum accepimus, quarum plumæ, ignium modo, colluceant noctibus. -Plin. lib. x, cap. 47.

The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See PLUTARCH (in Crasso), who calls them ακολας α βιβλια.

Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls ovos avoa μlzs, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers. -BARRY on Wines, ebap. vii.

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.

5 Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament among the Women of antiquity. Οι επικαρπιοι οφεις και αί χρυσαι

And showing limbs, as loth to show,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold,
Glided along the festal ring
With vases, all respiring spring,

Where roses lay, in languor breathing,

And the young bee-grape, round them wreathing,"
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek!

Oh, Nea! why did morning break

The spell that so divinely bound me? Why did I wake? how could I wake,

With thee my own and Heaven around me!

Well-peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me'
To-morrow, I sail for those cinnamon groves,
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves,
And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps, I may yet
Its seduction forgive and its splendour forget!
Farewell to Bermuda, 3 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 has stray'd!
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam
Through the lime-cover'd 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 couch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it placed,
I would not let an eye behold

The sacred gem my arms embraced!

πεδαι Θαιδος και Αρισαγόρας και Λαίδος φάρμακα. PHILSTR. epist. xl. LUCIAN too tells of the 6pxytotal d'oxxoVTES. See his Amores, where be 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.

· Ταραντινίδιον, διαφανες ενδυμα, ωνομασμένον από ans Tapauttywy xproses xxx tрupns.-Pollux.

Apiana, mentioned by PLANY, lib. xiv, and now called the Muscatell (a muscarum telis), says PANCIBOLLUS, book 1, sect.1, chap. 17. The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words a still-vex'd Bermoothes, in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those allreading gentlemen that, possibly, the discoverer of this island of hors 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 bas left us most wouderful 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.

4 JOHNSON does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda; but the Account of the European Sculements in America affirms it confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this work, however, less for its authority, than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke,

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ON SEEING AN INFANT IN NEA'S ARMS.

THE first ambrosial child of bliss

That Psyche to her bosom press'd,
Was not a brighter babe than this,
Nor blush'd upon a lovelier breast!
His little snow-white fingers, straying
Along her lip's luxuriant flower,
Look'd like a flight of ring-doves playing,
Silvery through a roseate bower!
And when, to shade the playful boy,

Her dark hair fell, in mazes bright,

Referant tamen quidam in interiore India avem esse, nomine Semendam, etc. CARDAN, 10 de Subtilitat. CESAR SCALIGER seems to think Semenda but another name for the Phoenix. Exercitat. 233.

Εν ταύθα δε καθωρμισται ἡμῖν· και ό, τι μεν ονομα τῇ νήσῳ ουκ οιδα χρυση δ' αν προς γε εμου ονομα ζοιτο.

PHILOSTRAT. Icon. 17, lib. 2.

I STOLE along the flowery bank,
While many a bending sea-grape' drank
The sprinkle of the feathery oar
That wing'd me round this fairy shore!

'T was noon; and every orange bud Hung languid o'er the crystal flood,

The sea-side or mangrove grape, a native of the West Indies.

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