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May spring to eternity hallow the shade, Behold the leafy mangrove bending Where Ariel has warbled and Walleri O'er the waters blue and bright, has strayed !

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt Shadow to her eyes of light !

happen to roam Through the lime-covered alley that Oh, my beloved ! where'er I turn,

Some trace of thee enchants mineeyes; leads to thy home,

In every star thy glances buro, Where oft, when the dance and the

Thy blush on every floweret lies. revel were done, And the stars were beginning to fade But then thy breath !- not all the fire in the sun,

That lights the lone Semenda's death I have led thee along, and have told In eastern climes, could e'er respire by the way

An odour like thy dulcet breath! What my heart all the night had been I pray thee, on those lips of thine burning to say

To wear this rosy leaf for me, Oh ! think of the past-give a sigh to And breathe of something not divine, those times,

Since nothing human breathes of thee! And a blessing for me to that alley of limes !

All other charms of thine I meet

In nature, but thy sigh alone ;

Then take, oh! take, though not so IF I were yonder wave, my dear,

sweet, And thou the isle it clasps around,

The breath of roses for thine own! I would not let a foot come near So while I walk the flowery grove, My land of bliss, my fairy ground ! The bud that gives, through morning

dew, If I were yonder conch of gold,

And thou the pearl within it placed, The lustre of the lips I love, I would not let an eye behold

May seem to give their perfume too! The sacred gem my arms embraced ! If I were yonder orange-tree,

THE SNOW SPIRIT. And thou the blossom blooming Tu potes insolitas, Cynthia, ferre nives ? there,

Properi. lib. i. eleg. 8. I would not yield a breath of thee, No, ne'er did the wave in its clement To scent the most imploring air !

steep

An island of lovelier charms;
Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink,
Give not the wave that rosy sigh,

It blooms in the giant embrace of the

deep, Nor let its burning mirror drink The soft reflection of thine eye.

Like Hebe in Hercules' arms !

The tint of your bowers is balm to the That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, eye,

Upon the billows pour their beam Their melody balm to the ear; So warmly, that my soul could seek But the fiery planet of day is too niyh, Its Nea in the painted streazn.

And the Snow Spirit never comes

here ! The painted stream my chilly grave

And nuptial bed at once may be ; The down from his wing is as white as I'll wed thee in that mimic wave,

the pearl And die upon the shade of thee! Thy lips for eir

binet stole,

Johnson does not thiuk that Waller was its authority than for the pleasure I feel i cver at Bermuda; but the Account of the Euro- quoting an unacknowledged production of the pean Settlements in America afirms it confidently great Edmund Burke. (vol. ii). I mention this work, however, less for

And it falls on the green earth as melt- Oh for a Naiad's sparry bower,
ing, my girl,

To shade me in that glowing hour !
As a murmur of thine on the soul !
Oh! tly to the clime, where he pillows A little dove, of milky hue,
the death,

Before me from a plantain flew,
As he cradles the birth of the year; And, light along the water's brim,
Bright are your bowers and balmy I steered my gentle bark by him;
their breath,

For Fancy told me Love had sent But the Snow Spirit cannot come

This snowy bird of blandishment, here !

To lead me, where my soul should

meetHow sweet to behold him when, borne I knew not what, but something sweet!

on the gale, And brightening the bosom of morn, Blest be the little pilot dove ! He flings, like the priest of Diana, a He had indeed been sent by Love, veil

To guide me to a scene so dear O'er the brow of each virginal thorn! As Fate allows but seldom here : Yet think not the veil he so chillingly One of those rare and brilliant hours, casts

Which, like the aloe's lingering flowers, Is the veil of a vestal severe ; May blossom to the eye of man No, no-thou wilt see what a moment But once in all his weary span !

it lasis, Should the Snow Spirit ever come Just where the margin's opening shade here!

A vista from the waters made, But fly to his region—lay open thy Upon a rich banana's bloom.

My bird reposed his silver plume zone, And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, What spell, what magic raised her there?

Oh, vision bright! oh, spirit fair ! To think that a bosom, as white as his 'Twas Nea ! slumbering calm and mild, Should not melt in the day-beam Whose spirit in Elysium keeps

And bloomy as the dimpled child like him!

Its playful sabbath while he sleeps ! Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet

The broad banana's green embrace O'er his luminous path will appear, Hung shadowy round each tranquil Fly! my beloved ! this island is sweet, But the Snow Spirit cannot come One little beam alone could win

grace ; here!

The leaves to let it wander in,

And stealing over all her charms, Ενταύθα δε καθωρμισται ημιν. και ό, τι μεν ονομα From lip to clieek, fronm neck to arms, τη νησω ουκ οιδα χρυση δ' αν προς γε εμου | It glanced around a fiery kiss, ovouaSoito. Philostrat. Icon. 17, lib. 2.

All trembling, as it went, with bliss ! I STOLE along the flowery bank, While many a bending sea-grape 1 Her eyelid's black and silken fringe drank

Lay on her cheek, of vermil tinge, The sprinkle of the feathery oar Like the first ebon cloud that closes That winged me round this fairy shore: Dark on Evening's Heaven of roses ! 'Twas noon; and every orange bud

Her glances, though in slumber hid, Hung languid o'er the crystal flood

Seemed glowing through their ivory Faint as the lids of maideu eyes Beneath a lover's burning sighs !

And o'er her lip's reflecting dew

A soft and liquid lustre threw, The sea-side or mangrove grape, a native of Such as, declining dim and faint,

The lamp of some beloved saint

own,

lid;

the West Indies,

Doth shed upon a flowery wreath, Nor thought that time's eternal lapse Which pious hands have hung beneath. Should see it grace a lovelier maid !

Was ever witchery half so sweet ! Look, darling, what a sweet design ! Think, think how all my pulses beat, The more we gaze, it charms the As o'er the rustling bank I stole

more ! Oh ! you that know the lover's soul,

Come, --closer bring that cheek to mine, It is for you to dream the bliss,

And trace with me its beauties o'er. The tremblings of an hour like this.

Thou seest, it is a simple youth

By some enamoured nymph emI FOUND her not the chamber seemed braced Like some divinely haunted place,

Look, Nea, love! and say, in sooth, Where fairy forms had lately beamed,

Is not her hand most dearly placed ? And left behind their odorous trace !

Upon his curled head behind
It felt as if her lips had shed

It seems in careless play to lie,
A sigh around her, ere she fled, Yet presses gently, half inclined
Which hung, as on a melting lute, To bring his lip of nectar nigh!
When all the silver chords are mute,
There lingers still a trembling breath

Oh happy maid ! too happy boy!
After the note's luxurious death,

The one so fond and faintly loth, A shade of song, a spirit air

The other yielding slow to joyOf melodies which had been there! Oh, rare indeed, but blissful both ! I saw the web, which, all the day, Imagine, love, that I am he,

Had floated o'er her cheek of rose, And just as warm as he is chilling; I saw the couch, where late she lay Imagine too that thou art she, In languor of divine repose !

But quite as cold as she is willing : And I could trace the hallowed print So may we try the graceful way

Her limbs had left, as pure and warm In which their gentle arms are As if 'twere done in rapture's mint, twined, And Love himself had stamped the And thus, like her, my hand I lay form!

Upon thy wreathed hair behind : Oh, Nea ! Nea! where wert thou ?

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, In pity fly not thus from me;

As slow to mine thy head I move ; Thou art my life, my essence now, And thus our lips together meet, And my soul dies of wanting thee !

And-thus 1 kiss thee-oh, my love !

A KISS A L'ANTIQUE. BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem

Within this simple ring of gold ; 'Tis hallowed by the touch of them

Who lived in classic hours of old. Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps,

Upon her hand this gem displayed,

... λιβανοτω εικασεν, ότι απολλυμενον ευφραινει.

Aristot. Rhetor. lib. iii. cap. 4.
THERE's not a look, a word of thine,

My soul hath e'er forgot;
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,

Which I remember not !

| Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and 44. I know of very few subjects in which Psyche at Florence, in which the position of poetry could be more interestingly employed, Psyche's hand is finely expressive of affection. ihan 'in illustrating some of the ancient staines See the Museum Florentinum, tom. ii. tab. 43, and gems.

There never yet a murmur fell | To die were sweeter, than to let
From that beguiling tongue,

The lovedl remembrance go!
Which did not, with a lingering spell,
Upon my charmed senses dwell,

No, if this slighted heart must see
Like something Heaven had sung ! Its faithful pulse decay,
Ah ! that I could at once forget Oh ! let it die, remembering thee,
All, all that haunts me so --

And, like the burnt aroma, be
And yet, thou witching girl !--and yet, Consumed in sweets away!

EPISTLE V.

TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ.
FROM BERMUDA. 1

Maich.
"The daylight is gone-but, before we depart,
One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart,
To the kindest, the dearest-oh! judge by the tear,
That I shed while I name him, how kind and how dear !'

'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash-tree,
With a few who could feel and remember like me,
The charm, that to sweeten my goblet I threw,
Was a tear to the past and a blessing on you !

was

| Pinkerton has said that'a good history and the Government of the day, was a wild and usedescription of the Bermudas might afford a pleas- less speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who ing addition to the geographical library; but governor of the island some years since, prothere certainly are not materials for such a work. posed, if I mistake not, the establishment of a The island, since the time of its discovery, has marine academy for the instruction of those experienced so very few vicissitudes, the people children of West Indians who might be intended have been so indolent, and their trade so limited, for any nautical employment. This was a more that there is but little which the historian could rational idea, and for something of this nature amplify into importance; and, with respect to the island is admirably calculated. But the plan the natural productions of the country, the few should be much more extensive, and embrace a which the inhabitants can be induced to culti- general system of education, which would entirely vate are so common in the West Indies, that remove the alternative in which the colonists are they have been described by every naturalist who involved at present, of either sending their sons has written any account of those islands.

to England for instruction, or entrusting them to It is often asserted by the transatlantic politi- colleges in the States of America, where ideas by cians, that this little colony deserves more atten. no means favourable to Great Britain are very tion from the mother-country than it receives; sedulously inculcated. and it certainly possesses advantages of situation, The women of Bermuda, though not generally to which we should not be long insensible ifit were handsome, have an affectionate languor in their once in the hands of an enemy. I was told by a louk and manner, which is always interesting. celebrated friend of Washington, at New York, What the French imply by their epithet aimante that they had formed a plan for its capture to seems very much the character of the young wards the conclusion of the American War, with Bermudian girls—that predisposition to loving, the intention (as he expressed himsell) of making which, without being awakened by any particu. it a nest of hornets for the annoyance of British lar object, diffuses itself through the general trade in that part of the world. And there is no manner in a tone of tenderness that never fails doubt it lies so fairly in the track to the West to fascinate. The men of the island, I confess, Indies, that an enemy might with ease convert it are not very civilised; and the old philosopher, into a very harassing impediment.

who imagined that, after this life, men would be The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at changed into mules, and women into turtle. Bermuda, where American savages might bo doves, would find the metamorphosis in some converte 1 an 1 educatel, though concurred in by degree anticipated at Bermuda,

Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour
Of wine and of wit, when the heart is in flower
And shoots from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new!
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cap with a sigh, as you crown it to him,
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair,
And would pine in Elysium, if friends were not there?
Last night, when we came from the calabash-tree,
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free,
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day
Put the magical springs of my fancy in play,
And oh !-such a vision as haunted me then
I could slumber for ages to witness again!
The many I like, and the few I adore,
The friends, who were dear and beloved before,
But never till now so beloved and dear,
At the call of my fancy surrounded me here !
Soon, soon did the flattering spell of their smile
To a paradise brighten the Clest little isle ;
Serener the wave, as they looked on it, flowed,
And warmer the rose, as they gathered it, glowed !
Not the valleys Heræan (though watered by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,
Where the song of the shepherd, primeval and wild,
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child)
Could display such a bloom of delight, as was given
By the magic of love to this miniature Heaven !
Oh, magic of love! unembellished by you,
Has the garden a blush or the herbage a hue ?
Or blooms there a prospect in nature or art,
Like the vista that shines through the eye to the heart ?
Alas! that a vision so happy should fade !
That, when morning around me in brilliancy played,
The rose and the stream I had thought of at night
Should still be before me, unfadingly bright;
While the friends, who had seemed to hang over the stream,
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream !
But see, through the harbour, in floating array,
The bark that must carry these pages away
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind,
And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel behind !
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove,
Ere she sleep in the lea of the land that I love !
Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be,
And the sound of those gales would be music to me!

"Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daplınis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nurscd lig the nymphs. ? A ship, ready to sail for England.

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