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I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep

That us d to shade thy looks of light; And why those eyes their vigil keep,

When other suns are sunk in night ?

And I will say - her angel breast

Has never throbb'd with guilty sting ; Her bosom is the sweetest nest

Where Slumber could repose his wing !

Nay,-look not thus, with brow reproving; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, This world would be in strange confusion. If ladies' eyes were, every one, As lovers swear, a radiant sun, Astronomy must leave the skies, To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. Oh, no — believe me, lovely girl, When nature turns your teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, Your amber locks to golden wire, Then, only then can Heaven decree, That you should live for only me, Or I for you, as night and morn, We've swearing kist, and kissing sworn.

And I will say - her cheeks that flush,

Like vernal roses in the sun, Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush,

Except for what her eyes have done !

Then tell me, why, thou child of air!

Does slumber from her eyelids rove? What is her heart's impassion'd care ?

Perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps, 'tis love.

And now, my gentle hints to clear, For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. Whenever you may chance to meet Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, Long as you're false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you, So long the blissful bond endures, And while he lies, his heart is yours : But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth The instant that he tells you truth.


Come, tell me where the maid is found,

Whose heart can love without deceit, And I will range the world around,

To sigh one moment at her feet.

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Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna.

MARTIAL., lib. xiv. epig. 39.

And often, as she smiling said,

In fancy's hour, thy gentle rays
Shall guide my visionary tread

Through poesy's enchanting maze.
Thy flame shall light the page refin'd,

Where still we catch the Chian's breath,

Where still the bard, though cold in death,
Has left his soul unquench'd behind.
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine,

Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades !
To whom the nightly warbling Nine 4

A wand of inspiration gave,
Pluck'd from the greenest tree, that shades

The crystal of Castalia’s wave.

“ Oa! love the Lamp” (my Mistress said),

“ The faithful Lamp that, many a night, “ Beside thy Lais' lonely bed

“ Has kept its little watch of light.


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Then, turning to a purer lore,
We'll cull the sages' deep-hid store;
From Science steal her golden clue,
And every mystic path pursue,
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes,
Through labyrinths of wonder flies.

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It does not appear to have been very difficult to become as he who anticipated Newton in developing the arrangement a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of of the universe. learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch. de Placit. wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to Philosoph. lib. ii. cap. 13. It is impossible to read this have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose. treatise of Plutarch, without alternately admiring the genius, The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly under- and smiling at the absurdities of the philosophers. stood that the founder of a new sect, in forming his ethical 2 The ancients had their lucernæ cubiculariæ or bed. code, might consult either fancy or temperament, and adapt chamber lamps, which, as the emperor Galienus said, “ail i it to his own passions and propensities ; so that Mahomet, cras meminere ;” and, with the same commendation of sewith a little more learning, might have flourished as a philo- crecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp in Aristophanes, Exrix's. sopher in those days, and would have required but the polish We may judge how fancisul they were, in the use and embelof the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in morality. lishment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna, In the science of nature, too, though some valuable truths which we find in the Romanum Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, were discovered by them, they seemed hardly to know they p. 127. were truths, or at least were as well satisfied with errors ; 3 Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's and Xenophanes, who asserted that the stars were igneous flight to the wretched village of Ascra. Eey. za. 'Huse, v. 251 clouds, lighted up every night and extinguished again in the 4 Εννυχίαι στειχον, περικαλλέα οσσαν Αισαι. Τheoc. V. 10. morning, was thought and styled a philosopher, as generally 5 Και μου σκηστεον εδον, δαφνης επιθηλια οζον, 1d. v.30.

'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know
How tleeting is this world below,
Where all that meets the morning light,
Is chang'd before the fall of night!!

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.


I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire,

" Swift, swift the tide of being runs,
" And Time, who bids thy flame expire,

“Will also quench yon heaven of suns.”
Oh, then if earth's united power
Can never chain one feathery hour ;
If every print we leave to-day
To-morrow's wave will sweep away;
Who panses to inquire of heaven
Why were the fleeting treasures given,
The sunny days, the shady nights,
And all their brief but dear delights,
Which heaven has made for man to use,
And man should think it crime to lose ?
Who that has culld a fresh-blown rose
Will ask it why it breathes and glows,
Cnmindful of the blushing ray,
In which it shines its soul away ;
l'nmindful of the scented sigh,
With which it dies and loves to die.



Mon âme sur mon lèvre 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 !

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''Pun se iha stolus dizny, as expressed among the dog- duction, he calls him, “une nouvelle créature, qui pourra Tras of Heraclitus the Ephesian, and with the same image by comprendre les choses les plus sublimes, et ce qui est bien Seneca, in whom we find a beautiful diffusion of the thought. au-dessus, qui pourra goûter les mêmes plaisirs." See his

Netno est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur Vénus Physique. This appears to be one of the efforts at Luminum more; quidquid vides currit cum tempore. Nihil Fontenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the learned Preex his quæ viderus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor mutari sident is so well and justly ridiculed in the Akakia of Volipua, muntatus sum," &c.

taire. * Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happi- Maupertuis may be thought to have borrowed from the anDesa, ia which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who cient Aristippus that indiscriminate theory of pleasures which I baked tr a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophie Morale, and for

and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a which he was so very justly condemned. Aristippus, accord. Tiolent and ungraceful derangement of the senses.

ing to Laertius, held un diccique To hoorvy úderns, which irraMaupertuis has been still more explicit than this philoso-tional sentiment has been adopted by Maupertuis : " Tant pber, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the sublimest qu'on ne considère que l'état présent, tous les plaisirs sont du pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man, in his pro- inėme genre," &c. &c.


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And still “Good night," my Rosa, say But whisper still, “ A minute stay ; And I will stay, and every minute Shall have an age of transport in it; Till Time himself shall stay his flight, To listen to our sweet “Good night.”



“ Good night!” you'll murmur with a sigh,
And tell me it is time to fly:
And I will vow, will swear to go,
While still that sweet voice murmurs “ No!”
Till slumber seal our weary sight
And then, my love, my soul, “Good night!”


Why does azure deck the sky ?

'Tis to be like thy looks 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!

TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. This tribute's from a wretched elf, Who hails thee, emblem of himself. The book of life, which I have trac'd, 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 lov'd such follies dearly: Yet still, O book! the allusion stands ; For these were penn'd by female hands : The rest - alas ! I own the truth Have 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 shown, White as the snowings of that heav'n By which those hours of peace were given. But now no longer - such, oh, such The blast of Disappointment's touch! No 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, for ever!

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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 thee!



LIKE one who trusts to summer skies,

And puts his little bark to sea, Is he who, lur’d by smiling eyes,

Consigns his simple heart to thee.

Say, why should the girl of my soul be in tears

At a meeting of rapture like this, When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of |

years Have been paid by one moment of bliss ?

For fickle is the summer wind,

And sadly may the bark be tost; For thou art sure to change thy mind,

And then the wretched heart is lost !

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight,

Which dwells on her memory yet ? Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing

night, From the warmth of the sun that has set ?

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When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom

SONG. When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover,

Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me, And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. Thou wilt never find any sincerer ;

I'll give up the world, O Bessy! for thee, Light went the harp when the War-God, reclining, I can never meet any that's dearer.

Lay lulld on the white arm of Beauty to rest, Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, When round his rich armour the myrtle hung That our loves will be censur'd by many; twining,

All, all have their follies, and who will deny And flights of young doves made his helmet

That ours is the sweetest of any ?
their nest.
But, when the battle came,

When your lip has met mine, in communion so
The hero's eye breath'd flame :

sweet, Soon from his neck the white arm was flung ;

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ? -
While, to his wak’ning ear,

Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ? -
No other sounds were dear

No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it. But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets so innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, sung.

So little of wrong is there in it, Bat then came the light harp, when danger was That I wish all my errors were lodg'd on your lip, ended,

And I'd kiss them away in a minute. And Beauty once more lull’d the War-God to rest;

Then come to your lover, oh ! fiy to his shed, When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, From a world which I know thou despisest ; And flights of young doves made his helmet And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed their nest.

As e'er on the couch of the wisest.

Εγχει, και παλιν εισι, παλιν, σαλιν, "Ήλιοδωρας

Ειτι, συν αυξητο το γλυκυ μιση ονομα.
Και μου τον βειχθεντα μυρως και χθιζον εοντα,

Μναμισυνον αυνας, αμφιτιθει στεφανον"

Δακρυιι φιλιραστον ιδου ροδον, oύνεκα κειναν
Αλλοθι κ' ου κολπις ημετέροις ισορα.

BRUNCK. Analect. tom. i. p. 28.

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