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Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade;

And, while the foliage interposing played, Lending the scene an ever-changing grace,

Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to

trace

The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch,1 And dream of temples, till her kindling torch

Lighted me back to all the glorious days Of Attic genius; and I seemed to gaze On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount.

Then thought I, too, of thee, most sweet of all

The spirit race that come at poet's call, Delicate Ariel! who, in brighter hours, Lived on the perfume of these honied bowers,

In velvet buds, at evening, loved to lie, And win with music every rose's sigh. Though weak the magic of my humble strain

To charm your spirit from its orb again, Yet, oh, for her, beneath whose smile I sing,

For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing

Were dimmed or ruffled by a wintry sky. Could smooth its feather and relume its dye,)

Descend a moment from your starry sphere,

And, if the lime-tree grove that once was

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1 This is an illusion which, to the few who are fanciful enough to indulge in it, renders the scenery of Bermuda particularly interesting. In the short but beautiful twilight of their spring evenings, the white cottages, scattered over the islands, and but partially seen through the trees that surround them, assume often the appearance of little Grecian temples; and a vivid fancy may embellish the poor fisherman's hut with columns such as the pencil of a Claude might imitate. I had one favorite object of this kind in my walks, which the hospitality of its owner robbed me of, by asking me to visit him. He was a plain good man, and received me well and warmly, but I could never turn his house into a Grecian temple again.

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And battling winds whose savage blast But ill agrees with one whose hours

Have past in old Anacreon's bowers, Yet think not poesy's bright charm Forsook me in this rude alarm: 3When close they reefed the timid sail,

2 This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere; but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some of the kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to atone to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few instances of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved by the Americans. His house is the very temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger who, warm from the welcome of such a board, could sit down to write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a modern philosophist. See the Travels of the Duke de la RouchefoucaultLiancourt, vol. ii.

3 We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, was built at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by my very regretted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was killed aboard the Lilly in an action with a French privateer. Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in the service so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well-manned merchantman was at any time a match for her.

When, every plank complaining loud, We labored in the midnight gale, - And even our haughty main-mast

bowed,

Even then, in that unlovely hour,
The Muse still brought her soothing

power,

And, midst the war of waves and wind,
In song's Elysium lapt my mind.
Nay, when no numbers of my own
Responded to her wakening tone,
She opened, with her golden key,

The casket where my memory lays
Those gems of classic poesy,

Which time has saved 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! "

Sweet 1 is your kiss, my Lais dear,
But, with that kiss I feel a tear
Gush from your eyelids, such as start
When those who 've dearly loved must
part.

Sadly you lean your head to mine,
And mute those arms around me twine,
Your hair adown my bosom spread,
All glittering with the tears you shed.
In vain I 've kist those lids of snow,
For still, like ceaseless 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.

1 This epigram is by Paul the Silentiary, and may be found in the Analecta of Brunck, vol. iii. P. 72. As the reading there is somewhat different from what I have followed 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, first produced the epigram. See his "Poemata." ἡδὺ μέν ἐστι φίλημα τὸ Λαιδός· ἡδὺ δὲ αὐτῶν ἠπιοδινητῶν δάκρυ χέεις βλεφάρων, καὶ πολὺ κιχλίζουσα σοβεῖς εὐβόστρυχον αἴγλην, ἡμέτερα κεφαλὴν δηρὸν ἐρεισαμένη. μυρομένην δ ̓ ἐφίλησα· τὰ δ ̓ ὡς δροσερῆς ἀπὸ πηγῆς,

δάκρυα μιγνυμένων πίπτε κατὰ στομάτων· εἶπε δ ̓ ἀνειρομένῳ, τίνος ούνεκα δάκρυα λείβεις; δείδια μή με λιπῇς· ἐστε γὰρ ὁρκαπάται.

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 sunny morning smile
Serenely o'er its fragrant hills;
And felt the pure, delicious flow
Of airs that round this Eden blow
Freshly as even the gales that come
O'er our own healthy hills at home.

Could you but view the scenery fair,

That now beneath my window lies, You'd think, that nature lavished there 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 sunbeam proudly show

The coral rocks they love to steep.2 The fainting breeze of morning fails; The drowsy boat moves slowly past, And I can almost touch its sails

As loose they flap around the mast. The noontide sun a splendor pours That lights up all these leafy shores; While his own heaven, its clouds and beams,

So pictured in the waters lie, That each small bark, in passing, seems To float along a burning sky.

Oh for the pinnace lent to thee,8

Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, Didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea

And touch at all its isles of light.

2 The water is so clear around the island, that the rocks are seen beneath to a very great depth; and, as we entered the harbor, they appeared to us so near the surface that it seemed impossible we should not strike on them. There is no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead; and the negro pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, takes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors.

3 In Kircher's "Ecstatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, the genius of the world, gives Theodidactus a boat of asbestos, with which he embarks into the regions of the sun. "Vides (says Cos miel) hanc asbestinam naviculam commoditati tuæ præparatam." -"Itinerar." 1. Dial. i. сар. 5. This work of Kircher abounds with strange fancies.

Sweet Venus, what a clime he found Within thy orb's ambrosial round! 1 There spring the breezes, rich and

warm,

That sigh around thy vesper car; And angels dwell, so pure of form That each appears a living star.2 These are the sprites, celestial queen! Thou sendest nightly to the bed Of her I love, with touch unseen

Thy planet's brightening tints to shed; To lend that eye a light still clearer,

To give that cheek one rose-blush more,

And bid that blushing lip be dearer,

Which had been all too dear before.

But, whither means the muse to roam? 'T is time to call the wanderer 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.

1 When the Genius of the world and his fel

low-traveller arrive at the planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness, full of odors and intelligences, where angels preside, who shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth; such being, according to astrologers, the "vis influxiva" of Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks," Whether baptism may be performed with the waters of Venus?" an aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui possit?" to which the Genius answers, tainly.”

66

"Cer

2 This idea is Father Kircher's: "tot animatos coles dixisses."-"Itinerar." I. Dial. i. cap. 5.

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ODES TO NEA;

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.

ΝΕΑ τυραννεῖ.

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, Unfevered by her false delights, Thither my wounded soul would fly, Where rosy cheek or radiant eye Should bring no more their bliss, or pain, Nor 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,

What hours and days have I seen glide,
While fixt, 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 perfumed
The flame which thus my life consumed;
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 wan-
der,

Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, Endearing still, reproaching never,

EURIPID. "Medea," v. 967.

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

All we then looked and thought;

'T was more than tongue could dare reveal,

'T was every thing that young hearts feel, By Love and Nature taught.

I stooped to cull, with faltering hand, A shell that, on the golden sand,

Before us faintly gleamed;

I trembling raised it, and when you
Had kist the shell, I kist it too

How sweet, how wrong it seemed!

Oh, trust me, 't was 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 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 seemed 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 hallowed 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.

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That moment, did the assembled eyes

Of heaven and earth my madness view, I should have seen, thro' 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 turned the classic page,

And traced that happy period over, When blest alike were youth and age, And love inspired the wisest sage,

And wisdom graced the tenderest lover.

Before I laid me down to sleep

Awhile I from the lattice gazed Upon that still and moonlight deep,

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

I felt, 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 breathed the blissful air

That late had thrilled to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dreamt I, - and when

Sleep

Came o'er my sense, the dream went

on;

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