TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ.,
OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.
From Bermuda, January 1804.
On what a tempest whirl'd us hither!
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, We labour'd in the midnight gale,
And ev❜n our haughty main-mast bow'd
The Muse, in that unlovely hour,
Benignly brought her soothing power,
And, midst the war of waves and wind,
In song's elysian lap'd my mind!
She open'd, with her golden key,
The casket where my memory lays
Those little gems of poesy,
Which time has sav'd from ancient days Take one of these, to Lais sung,
I wrote it while my hammock swung,
As one might write a dissertation
Upon "suspended animation !"
Sweetly you kiss, my Lais dear!
But, while you kiss, I feel a tear
Bitter, as those when lovers part,
In mystery from your eye-lid start
Sadly you lean your head to mine,
And round my neck in silence twine,
Your hair along my bosom spread,
All humid with the tears you shed!
Have I not kiss'd those lids of snow?
Yet still, my love, like founts they flow,
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet-
Why is it thus? do tell me, sweet!
Ah, Lais! are my bodings right?
Am I to lose you? is to-night
Our last-go, false to heaven and me
Your very tears are treachery.
Such, while in air I floating hung,
Such was the strain, Morgante mio The Muse and I together sung,
With Boreas to make out the trio. But, bless the little fairy isle !
How sweetly after all our ills, We saw the dewy morning smile
Serenely o'er its fragrant hills !
And felt the pure, elastic flow
Of airs, that round this Eden blow,
With honey freshness, caught by stealth
Warm from the very lips of health!
Oh! could you view the scenery dear,
That now beneath my window lies,
You'd think, that Nature lavish'd here
Her purest wave, her softest skies,
To make a heaven for love to sigh in,
For bards to live and saints to die in!
Close to my wooded bank below,
In glassy calm the waters sleep,
And to the sun-beam proudly show
The coral rocks they love to steep!
The fainting breeze of morning fails,
The drowsy boat moves slowly past,
And I can almost touch its sails
That languish idly round the mast.
The sun has now profusely given
The flashes of a noontide heaven,
And, as the wave reflects his beams,
Another heaven its surface seems!
Blue light and clouds of silvery tears
So pictur'd o'er the waters lie,
That every languid bark appears
To float along a burning sky!
Oh! for the boat the angel gave
To him, who in his heaven-ward flight,
Sail'd, o'er the sun's ethereal wave,
To planet-isles of odorous light!
Sweet Venus, what a clime he found
Within thy orb's ambrosial round!
There spring the breezes, rich and warm,
That pant around thy twilight car;
There angels dwell, so pure of form,
That each appears a living star!
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 bright'ning balm to shed
To make the eye's enchantment clearer,
To give the cheek one rose-bud more,
And bid that flushing lip be dearer,
Which had been, oh! so dear before!
But, whither means the Muse to roam?
"Tis time to call the wanderer home.
Who could have ever thought to search 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!
Fare you well-remember too,
When cups are flowing to the brim, That here is one who drinks to you, And, oh!-as warmly drink to him.
WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA.
OH! there's a holy calm profound
In awe like this, that ne'er was given
To rapture's thrill;
"Tis as a solemn voice from heaven,
And the soul, listening to the sound,
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,
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.
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 ev'n 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!
How many hours were idly past,
As if such bliss must ever last,
Unmindful of the fleeting day,
Have I dissolv'd life's dream away!
O bloom of time profusely shed!
O moments! simply, vainly fled,
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 dear! could'st thou, like her,
When warm to feel and quick to err,
Of loving fond, of roving fonder,
My thoughtless soul might wish to wander,
Could'st 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 '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. 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.
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!
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!
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!
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