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

Thy planet's bright'ning 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?
"Tis time to call the wand'rer 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.

"Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, Of slumb❜ring 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 sorrow'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 treath

No more shall move him.

ODES TO NEA;

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.

Now float before me, soft and bright

As when they first enamoring shone,What hours and days have I seen glide, While fix'd, 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 wander,—
Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim,

Endearing still, reproaching never,

Till ev'n this 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 but one 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. &

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 turning in
From ocean's rude and angry din,

As lovers steal to bliss,
The billows kiss the shore, and then
Flow back into 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 ever lent its shade to love,
No eye but heaven's o'er us!

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

All we then look'd and thought; "Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas ev'ry thing that young hearts feel, By Love and Nature taught.

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

I trembling raised it, and when y Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too

How sweet, how wrong it seem'd!

Oh, trust me, 'twas 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?

Divinoly through the graceful dance, You seem'd 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 hallow'd 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.

Heedless of all, but you alone,

And you, at least, should not condemn, If, when such eyes before me shone,

My soul forgot all eyes but them,—

I dared to whisper passion's vow,—

For love had ev'n of thought bereft me,Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow,

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 that's best and worst in man.

That moment, did th' assembled 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; Enough for me to win your love,

And die upon the spot when won.

A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.

I JUST had turn'd 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.

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 Asomatos) is the place called at present Kepol, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vineyard Garden: these were probably the gardens which Pausanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2.

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 thrill'd to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dream'd I,—and when Sleep
Came o'er my sense, the dream went on;
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep,
Hath ever lovelier vison shone.

I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade,1
Where Epicurus taught the Loves

To polish virtue's native brightness,-
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves
Have play'd with, wear a smoother whitenes
"Twas 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 by thy side I fondly roved Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, And sages sigh'd and lovers thought; Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern, But all was form'd to sooth 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! 'twas a bright, bewild'ring sceneAlong the alley's deep'ning 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 those countless birds of light, That sparkle in the leaves at night, And from their wings diffuse a ray Along the traveller's weary way.3 "Twas light of that mysterious kind, Through which the soul perchance may roa When it has left this world behind,

And gone to seek its heavenly home.

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

In Hercynio Germaniæ saltu inusitata genera alitumi cepimus, quarum plume, ignium modo, colluceant noctib -Plin. lib. x. cap. 47.

And, Nea, thou wert by my side,
Through all this heav'nward path my guide.

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we ranged
That upward path, the vision changed;
And now, methought, we stole along

Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever lived in Teian song,

Or wanton'd in Milesian story.1
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs;
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd,
A mute appeal to passion breathed.
Some flew, with amber cups, around,

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete ;"
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet.3
While others, waving arms of snow

Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold,1
And showing charms, as loath to show,

Through many a thin Tarentian fold,"
Glided among the festal throng
Bearing rich urns of flowers along.
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 thus 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 that cheek, though it bloom not for me!

1 The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Miletas, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Plutarch, (in Crasso,) who calls them akodaora Biẞdia.

"Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls orvos arocptas, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers."-Barry on Wines, chap. 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.

• Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among the women of antiquity. Oi emikapяioi opɛis kaι al xpvoat πεσαι Θαιδος και Αρισταγόρας και Λαίδος φαρμακα.-Philostrat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the ẞpaxiotoi dpaKOTES. See his Amores, where he describes the dressingroom 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, διαφανές ενδυμα, ωνομασμένον από της Ταραντίνων χρήσεως και τρυφης.-Polluz.

Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv., and "now called

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet Their allurements forgive and their splendor forgot.

Farewell to Bermuda, 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 conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it placed,

I would not let an eye behold
The sacred gems my arms embraced.

If I were yonder orange-tree,

And thou the blossom blooming there, I would not yield a breath of thee To scent the most imploring air.

the Muscatel, (a muscarum telis,") says Pancirollus, book i., sect. 1, chap. 17.

I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the West Indies.

The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "stillvex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the discoverer of this "island of hogs 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 has left us most wonderful 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.

• Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda; but the "Account of the European Settlements 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.

a poet to be "three removes from truth;" rpiraros ano