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'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know
And, soon as night shall close the eye
Of heaven's young wanderer in the west;
When seers are gazing on the sky,
To find their future orbs of rest ;
Then shall I take my trembling way,
Unseen but to those worlds above,
And, led by thy mysterious ray,
Steal to the night-bower of my love.
ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF
Mon âme sur mon lévre étoit lors toute entière,
Pour savourer le miel qui sur la vôtre étoit;
Mais en me retirant, elle resta derrière,
Tant de ce doux plaisir l'amorce là restoit.
How heav'nly was the poet's doom,
To breathe his spirit through a kiss ;
And lose within so sweet a tomb
The trembling messenger of bliss !
And, sure his soul return'd to feel
That it again could ravish'd be;
For in the kiss that thou didst steal,
His life and soul have fled to thee.
That would our joys one hour delay!
Love calls us to in youth's bright day,
And must I from my Rosa go?
Oh Rosa, say “Good night !” once more,
And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er,
Till the first glance of dawning light
Shall find us saying, still, "Good night.”
taire. * Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happi Maupertuis may be thought to have borrowed from the ansess, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who cient Aristippus that indiscriminate theory of pleasures looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, which he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophie Morale, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a and for which he was so very justly condemned. Aristipviolent and ungraceful derangement of the senses.
pus, according to Laertius, held in drapepev te çdovou * Maupertuis has been still more explicit than this philoso- hdowns, which irrational sentiment has been adopted by phet, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the sublimest Maupertuis : “Tant qu'on ne considère que l'état présenh pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man in his pro tous les plaisirs sont du même genre," &c. &c.
“Good night!" you'll murmur with a sigh,
Why does azure deck the sky?
'Tis to be like thine eyes of blue ; Why is red the rose's dye?
Because it is thy blushes' hue. All that's fair, by Love's decree, Has been made resembling thee!
This tribute's from a wretched elf, Who hails thee, emblem of himself. The book of life, which I have traced, Has been, like thee, a motley waste Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, One folly bringing hundreds more. Some have indeed been writ so neat, In characters so fair, so sweet, That those who judge not too severely, Have said they loved such follies dearly: Yet still, O book! the allusion stands; For these were penn'd by female hands : The rest--alas! I own the truthHave all been scribbled so uncouth That Prudence, with a with’ring look, Disdainful, flings away the book. Like thine, its pages here and there Have oft been staind with blots of care ; And sometimes hours of peace, I own, Upon some fairer leaves have shone, White as the snowings of that heav'n By which those hours of peace were give But now no longer-such, oh, such The blast of Disappointment's touchNo longer now those hours appear; Each leaf is sullied by a tear: Blank, blank is ev'ry page with care, Not ev'n a folly brightens there. Will they yet brighten ?-never, never! Then shut the book, O God, forever!
Why is falling snow so white,
But to be like thy bosom fair ? Why are solar beams so bright?
That they may seem thy golden hair! All that's bright, by Love's decree, Has been made resembling thee!
Why are nature's beauties felt?
Oh! 'tis thine in her we see ! Why has music power to melt?
Oh! because it speaks like thee All that's sweet, by Love's decree, Has been made resembling theo
Then, again comes the Harp, when the combat is
When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom
Thou wilt never find any sinoerer;
I'll give up the wc.d, O Bessy! for thee, Lay lulld on the white arm of Beauty to rest,
I can never meet any that's dearer. When round his rich armor the myrtle hung
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,
That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny And flights of young doves made his helmet their
That ours is the sweetest of any?
But, when the battle came,
The hero's eye breathed flame:
While, to his wak’ning ear,
But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets
But then came the light harp, when danger was
When your lip has met mine, in communion so
No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it.
So little of wrong is there in it,
And I'll kiss them away in a minute.
ended, !! And Beauty
once more lull'd tho War-God to
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended,
And flights of young doves made his helmet their
Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed,
From a world which I know thou despisest;
As e'er on the couch of the wisest.
και παλιν ειπε, παλιν, παλιν, Ηλιοδωρας
Δακρυει φιλεραστον ιδoν ροδον, oύνεκα κειναν
BRUNCK. Analect. tom. i. p. 23.
Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears! The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.
Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies; But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimm'd too often with sighs. They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear; And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear. Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest—the hope is vain; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.
No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring :
On! think, how many a future year, Of placid smile and downy wing,
May sleep within its holy sphere.
Do not disturb their tranquil dream,
Though love hath ne'er the myst'ry wa Yet heaven 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 witching 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
Ev'n more, alas, than thou dost mine.
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,
And thou, pretty innocent, fearest,
'Tis only our lullaby, dearest.
And, oh! while we lie on our deathbed, my love,
Looking back on the scene of our errors,
And Death be disarm'd of his terrors.
“ Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven.” Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,
And a kiss be our passport to heaven!
-vo cercand' io,
PETRARC. Sonnett. 14.
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, underneath yon blessed sun,
So fair there are but thou and she.
Both born of beauty, at a birth,
Sho held with thine a kindred sway, And wore the only shape on earth
That could have lured my soul to stray.
Then blame me not, if false I be,
'Twas love that waked the fond excess; My heart had been more true to thee,
Had mine eye prized thy beauty less.
Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ;
To tears when thou art nigh.
So busy a life I live,
Is more than my heart can give.
Yet, stay,—one hope, one effort yet
A moment turn those eyes away, And let me, if I can, forget
The light that leads my soul astray.
Thou say'st, that we were born to meet,
Still flying from Nature to study her laws, That our hearts bear one common seal ; And dulling delight by exploring its cause, Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit
You forget how superior, for mortals below, Can seem to sigh and feign to feel.
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they
know. When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, Oh! who, that has e'er enjoy'd rapture complete,
Like daybeams through the morning air, Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet; Hath gradual stole, and I have caught
How rays are confused, or how particles fly The feeling ere it kindled there;
Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh ;
Is there one, who but once would not rather have The sympathy I then betray'd,
known it, Perhaps was but the child of art,
Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it? The guile of one, who long hath play'd With all these wily nets of heart.
As for you, my sweet-voiced and invisible love,
You must surely be one of those spirits, that rove 0! thine is not my earliest vow;
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, Though few the years I yet have told, When the star of the west on his solitude shines, Canst thou believe I've lived till now,
And the magical figures of fancy have hung With loveless heart or senses cold?
Every breezo with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue.
Oh! hint to him then, 'tis retirement alone No-other nymphs to joy and pain
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone; This wild and wandering heart hath moved ; Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, With some it sported, wild and vain,
His song to the world let him utter unseen, While some it dearly, truly loved.
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears.
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love, The words to thee I warmly say,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove, To them have been as warmly said.
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh,
Inhaling forever your song and your sigh! Then, scorn at once a worthless heart,
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of Worthless alike, or fix'd or free; Think of the pure, bright soul thou art,
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the And-love not me, oh love not me.
And turn with distaste from the clamorous crew, Enough—now, turn thine eyes again ;
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.
Then, come and be near me, forever be mine, Oh! no, beloved,,nor do I.
We shall hold in the air a communion divine,
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, THE INVISIBLE GIRL.
Such as angel to angel might whisper above.
Sweet spirit !-and then, could you borrow the They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
tone That you're not a true daughter of ether and light, Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song I or have any concern with those fanciful forms
known, That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; The voice of the one upon earth, who has twined
That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your With her being forever my heart and my mind, 1 eye
Though lonely and far from the light of her smile, As mortal as cver drew gods from the sky.
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while, Bat I will not believe them-no, Science, to you Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, I have long bid a last and a careless adieu : I will think, for that moment, that Cara is near;