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A liquid chord in every wave that flows,
Mingling their beams
Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams!
TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ.
OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.'
FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY 1804.
ΚΕΙΝΗ Δ' ΗΝΕΜΟΕΣΣΑ ΚΑΙ ΑΤΡΟΠΟΣ, ΟΙΑ Θ' ΑΛΙΠWafted his prayer to that eternal Power,
ΛΗΞ, ΑΙΘΥΤΗΣ ΚΑΙ ΜΑΛΛΟΝ ΕΠΙΔΡΟΜΟΣ HEΠΕΡ Whose seal upon this world impreste
ΙΠΠΟΙΣ, ΠΟΝΤΩ ΕΝΕΣΤΗΡΙΚΤΑΙ, The various forms of bright divinity!
Callimach, Hymn. in Del. v. ii. Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove, 'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower,"
Oh! what a tempest whirl'd us hither !2
Winds, whose savage breath could wither
All the light and languid flowers
That bloom in Epicurus' bowers !
Yet think not, George, that Fancy's charm
Forsook me in this rude alarm.
When close they reef'd the timid sail,
When, every plank complaining loud, The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy!
We labour'd in the midnight gale, Such dreams, so heavenly bright,
And e'en our haughty main-mast bow'd! I swear
The muse, in that unlovely hour, By the great diadem that twines my hair,
Benignly brought her soothing power, And by the seven gems that sparkle there,
And, midst the war of waves and wind,
In songs elysian lapp'd my mind! 1 These two lines are translated from the words of Achil She open'd, with her golden key, les Tatius. Εαν γαρ ολιγος ανεμος εις τας δινας εμπεση, , The casket where my memory lays το μεν υδωρ ως χορδη κρεεται, το δε πνευμα T8 υδατος πλεκ
Those little gems
of τρον γινεται. το ρευμα δε ως κιθαρα λαλει. Lib. 2.
poesy, 2 Orpheus.
Which time has sav'd from ancient days! 3 They called his lyre αρχαιοτροπον επταχορδον Ορφεως. Take one of these, to Lais sungSee a curious work by a professor of Greek at Venice, entitled" Hebdomades, sive septem de septenario libri.” Lib.
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 4. Cap. 3. p. 177.
As one might write a dissertation 4 Eratosthenes, telling the extreme veneration of Orpheus Upon “suspended animation !" for Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the Pangæan mountain at day-break, and there wait the rising of the sun, that he might be the first to hail its beams. Επεγειρομενος τε της νυκτος, κατα την εωθινην επι το ορος το Cassiodorus, whose idea I may be supposed to have borxcaligjsvov IIcy garov, a poosjesve taş VOCTOR US, ovce odin Tov rowed, says, in a letter upon music to Boetius, “Ut diadeΗλιον πρωτον. Καταστερισμ. 24.
ma oculis, varia luce gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate 5. There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us, soni, blanditur auditui." . This is indeed ihe only tolerable of the Deity. As those which Justin Martyr has produced : Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere, which contain sublime ideas of the unity and magnificence thought in the letter. Lib. 2. Variar.
1 This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Ουτος μεν χαλκειον ες 8ρανον εστηρικται
but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he Χρυσειω ενι θρονω, κ. τ. λ.
Ad Græc. cohortat.
resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some of
the kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to It is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned atone to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul amongst the fabrications which were frequent in the early himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few intimes of Christianity. Still it appears doubtful to whom we stances of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved should impute them; they are too pious for the Pagans, and by the Americans. His house is the very temple of hospitoo poetical for the Fathers.
tality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger, who, 6 In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attributes a figured warm from the welcome of such a board, and with the taste seal to Apollo, with which he imagines that deity to have of such Madeira still upon his lips,"col dolce in bocca," stamped a variety of forms upon the universe.
could sit down to write a libel on his host, in the true spirit 7 Alluding to the cave near Samos, where Pythagoras of a modern philosophist. See the Travels of the Duke de devoted the greater part of his days and nights to medita- la Rochefoucault Liancourt, Vol. 2. tion and the mysteries of his philosophy. Jamblich. de Vit. 2 We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to This, as Holstenius remarks, was in imitation of the Magi. Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to
8 The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pythagoreans, in a gale of wind. The Driver, sloop of war, in which I on which they solemnly.swore, and which they called agav went, was built at Bermuda, of cedar, and is accounted an ceeves Purews, " the fountain of perennial nature.” Lucian excellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by my very has ridiculed this religious arithmetic very finely in his Sale regretted friend, Captain Compton, who in July last was of Philosophers.
killed aboard the Lilly, in an action with a French priva9 This diadem is intended to represent the analogy be- teer. Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange imtween the notes of music and the prismatic colours. We policy of allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to find in Plutarch a vague intimation of this kindred harmony remain in the service : so small, so crank, and unmanagein colours and sounds. OYIS TE Xco anov, juste pouns Teable, that a well-manned merchantman was at any time a και φωτος την αρμονιαν επιφαινεσι, De Musicα.
match for her.
The sun has now profusely given SWEETLY' you kiss, my Lais dear!
The flashes of a noontide heaven, But, while you kiss, I feel a tear,
And, as the wave reflects his beams, Bitter as those when lovers part,
Another heaven its surface seems! In mystery from your eye-lid start !
Blue light and clouds of silvery tears Sadly you lean your head to mine,
So pictur'd o'er the waters lie, And round my neck in silence twine,
That every languid bark appears
To float along a burning sky!
Oh! for the boat the angel gavel
To him, who, in his heaven-ward flight,
To planet-isles of odorous light!
Sweet Venus, what a clime he found Am I to lose you? is to-night
Within thy orb's ambrosial round !? Our last-go, false to heaven and me!
There spring the breezes, rich and warm,
That pant around thy twilight car;
That each appears a living star !3
These are the sprites, oh radiant queen!
Thou send'st so often to the bed
Of her I love, with spell unseen,
Thy planet's brightening balm to shed;
To make the eye's enchantment clearer, How sweetly after all our ills,
To give the cheek one rose-bud more, We
And bid that flushing lip be dearer, Te saw the dewy morning smile
Which had been, oh! too dear before! Serenely o'er its fragrant hills!
But, whither means the muse to roam ? And felt the pure, elastic flow
'Tis time to call the wanderer home. Of airs, that round this Eden blow,
Who could have ever thought to search her
Up in the clouds with Father Kircher ?
So, health and love to all your mansion! That now beneath my window lies,
Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in, You'd think, that Nature lavish'd here
The flow of heart, the soul's expansion, Her purest wave, her softest skies,
Mirth, and song, your board illumine! To make a heaven for Love to sigh in,
Fare you well-remember too, For bards to live, and saints to die in!
When cups are flowing to the brim, Close to my wooded bank below,
That here is one who drinks to you, In glassy calm the waters sleep,
And, oh! as warmly drink to him. And to the sun-beam proudly show
The coral rocks they love to steep !2 The fainting breeze of morning fails, The drowsy boat moves slowly past,
THE RING. And I can almost touch its sails
1801. That languish idly round the mast.
No—Lady! Lady! keep the ring;
Oh! think how many a future year, 1 This epigram is by Paulus Silentiarius, and may be
Of placid smile and downy wing, found in the Analecta of Brunck, Vol. 8. p. 72. But as the reading there is somewhat different from what I have fol
May sleep within its holy sphere ! lowed in this translation, I shall give it as I had it in my memory at the time, and as it is in Heinsius, who, I believe,
Do not disturb their tranquil dream, first produced the epigram. See his Poemata.
Though love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd, 'HSU
μεν εστι φιλη μα το Λαιδος: ηδυ δε αυτων Ηπιοδινητων δακρυ χεεις βλεφαρων
1 In Kircher's "Extatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, Και πολυ κιχλιζεσα σoβεις ευβοστρυχον αιγλην the genius of the world, gives Theodidactus a boat of AsΗμετερα κεφαλην δηρον ερεισαμενη. .
bestos, with which he embarks into the regions of the sun.
“Vides (says Cosmiel) hanc asbestinam naviculam commoΜυρομενην δ'εφιλησα τα δ' ως δροσερης απο πηγησ, ditati tuæ præparatam.” Itinerar. 1. Dial. 1. Cap. 5. There Δακρυα μιγνυμενων πιπτε κατα στοματων
are some very strange fancies in this work of Kircher. Ειπε δ' ανειρο μενω, τινος ουνεκα δακρυα λειβεις;
2 When the Genius of the world and his fellow-traveller Δειδια μη με λιπης" εστε γαρ ορκαπαται.
arrive at the planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness,
full of odours and intelligences, where angels preside, who 2 The water is so clear around the island, that the rocks shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth; are seen beneath to a very great depth, and, as we entered such being, according to astrologers, the "vis intluxiva" of the harbour, they appeared to us so near the surface, that it Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casu: seemed impossible we should not strike on them. There is istical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead, and the negro “Whether baptism may be performed with the waters of pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, Venus ?”—“An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui postakes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and sit ?" to which the Genius answers, “Certainly." confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sai 3 This idea is father Kircher's. "Tot animatos soles Jors.
dixisses.” Itinerar. i. Dial. Cap. 5
ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AS
ΜΑΡΓΑΡΙΤΑΛΙ ΔΗΛΟΥΣΙ ΔΑΚΡΥΩΝ POON
Ap. Nicephor. in Oneirocritis
Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh!
Let weeping angels view it; Your cheeks belie its virgin snow,
And blush repenting through it. Put off the fatal zone you wear;
The lucid pearls around it Are tears, that fell from Virtue there,
The hour that Love unbound it.
Yet heav'n will shed a soothing beam,
To bless the bond itself hath form’d. But then, that eye, that burning eye!
Oh! it doth ask, with magic power, If heaven can ever bless the tie,
Where love inwreaths no genial flower! Away, away, bewildering look!
Or all the boast of Virtue's o'er; Go-hie thee to the sage's book,
And learn from him to feel no more ! I cannot warn thee!
every touch, That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as much,
Oh! quite as much, as thou dost mine! Yet stay, dear love—one effort yet
A moment turn those eyes away,
That our hearts bear one common seal,Oh, Lady! think, how man's deceit
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel ! When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought,
Like day-beams through the morning air, Hath gradual stole, and I have caught
The feeling ere it kindled there:
Perhaps was but the child of art;
With all these wily nets of heart.
Though few the years I yet have told, Canst thou believe I lived till now,
With loveless heart or senses cold?
-vo cercand' io Donna, quant'e possibile, in altrui La desiata vostra forma vera.
Petrarc. Sonett. 1
No—many a throb of bliss and pain,
For many a maid, my soul hath prov'd; With some I wanton'd wild and vain,
While some I truly, dearly lov'd! The cheek to thine I fondly lay,
To theirs hath been as fondly laid ; The words to thee I warmly say,
To them have been as warmly said. Then, scorn at once a languid heart,
Which long hath lost its early spring; Think of the pure, bright soul thou art,
And-keep the ring, oh! keep the ring. Enough-now, turn thine eyes again;
What, still that look, and still that sigh ! Dost thou not feel my counsel then?
Oh! no, beloved !--nor do I. While thus to mine thy bosom lies,
While thus our breaths commingling glow, 'Twere more than woman to be wise,
"Twere more than man to wish thee so! Did we not love so true, so dear,
This lapse could never be forgiven; But hearts so fond and lips so near
Give me the ring, and now-Oh heaven!
Yes, if 'twere any common love,
That led my pliant heart astray, I grant, there's not a power above
Could wipe the faithless crime away! But, 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee, That, oh! beneath the blessed sun,
So fair there are but thou and she! Whate'er may be her angel birth,
She was thy lovely perfect twin, And wore the only shape on earth,
That could have charm'd my soul to sin! Your eyes !—the eyes of languid doves
Were never half so like each other! The glances of the baby loves
Resemble less their warm-ey'd mother! Her lip!-oh, call me not false hearted,
When such a lip I fondly prest; 'Twas Love some melting cherry parted,
Gave thee one half and her the rest! And when, with all thy murmuring tone,
They sued, half open, to be kiss'd, I could as soon resist thine own
And them, heaven knows! I ne'er resist. Then, scorn me not, though false I be,
'Twas love that wak'd the dear excess; My heart had been more true to thee,
Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less!
ΤΟ. When I lov'd you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute ; But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it'
Thus, whether we're on or we're off,
Some witchery seems to await you; To love you is pleasant enough,
And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you !
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.
ODES TO NEA;
WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.
FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER."
It was but last delicious night
And caught her eyes' reflected light!
ΝΕΑ ΤΥΡΑΝΝΕΙ. .
Euripid. Medea, v. 987.
Of her he loves-
That rapture moves.
In this dark hour,
To Julia's bower.
Lies mute and still ! '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,
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 e'en 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 priz'd when all my own, Now float before me, soft and bright
As when they first enamouring shone !
Endearing still, reproaching never.
And be thine own, more fix'd than ever ? No, no-on earth there's only one
Could bind such faithless folly fast: And sure on earth 'tis 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.
1 Εγχει, και παλιν ειπε, παλιν, παλιν, Ηλιοδωρος
Ειπε, συν ακρητω το γλυκυ μισγ' ονομα.
Μνημοσυνον κενας, αμφιτιθει στεφανον:
Brunck. Analect. tom. I. p. 28.
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
Where late we thoughtless stray'd ;
Such lonely walks were made. That little bay, where, winding in From ocean's rude and angry din,
(As lovers steal to bliss,)
As though they did not kiss !
The silent sea before us,
No eye but nature's o'er us !
All that we wish'd and thought ;'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas more than virtue ought to feel,
But all that passion ought!
Before us faintly gleam'd;
Good heaven, how sweet it seem'd! 0, trust me, 'twas 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!
Bending to earth that beamy glance,
As if to light your steps along !
That hallow'd form with hand so free,
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 ine burn'd
My soul forgot all eyes but them! I dar'd 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; 'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and sense
'Twas 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!
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, 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,
A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY I just had turn’d the classic page,
And trac'd 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,
Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
Were lighted by a Grecian sky-
That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!
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 Assomatos) is the place called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vingyard Garden ; these were probably the gardens which Pausanias visited." Chap. ii. Vol. I.