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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,'
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 whiteness. "Twas one of those delicious nights

So common in the dimes 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. "Twas light of that mysterious kind,

Through which the soul perchance may roam When it has left this world behind,

And gone to seek its heavenly home.

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

In Hercynio Germaniæ saltu inusitata genera alitum a cepimus, quarum plume, ignium modo, colluceant noctibu -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.'

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;2 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,* 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 akoλaora Biẞλia.

"Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls ovos arbocpias, 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 emikaprioi opɛis kai al xpvoa πεόαι θαιέος και Αρισταγόρας και Λαίδος φαρμακα.-Philogtrat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the ẞpaxiotot 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.

Ο Ταραντινίδιον, διαφανες ενδυμα, ωνομασμένον απο 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


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


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 Í 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.

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1 The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West but it is quite true enough for poetry Plato, I think, allow Indies. a poet to be three removes from truth;" rpiraros año ri 2 The Agave. This, I am aware, is an erroneous notion, aλŋ0ɛcas.

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