If I were yonder wave, my dear, My land of bliss, my fairy ground! The sacred gem 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! Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink, Give not the wave that rosy sigh, Nor let its burning mirror drink The soft reflection of thine eye. That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, Upon the billows pour their beam So warmly, that my soul could seek Its Nea in the painted strean. The painted stream my chilly grave And nuptial bed at once may be ; I'll wed thee in that mimic wave, And die upon the shade of thee! 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 Behold the leafy mangrove bending O'er the waters blue and bright, Like Nea's silky lashes, lending Shadow to her eyes of light! Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn. Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes; In every star thy glances buro, Thy blush on every floweret lies. But then thy breath!-not all the fire That lights the lone Semenda's death In eastern climes, could e'er respire An odour like thy dulcet breath! I pray thee, on those lips of thine To wear this rosy leaf for me, And breathe of something not divine, Since nothing human breathes of thee! All other charms of thine I meet In nature, but thy sigh alone; Then take, oh! take, though not so sweet, The breath of roses for thine own! So while I walk the flowery grove, The bud that gives, through morning dew, The lustre of the lips I love, May seem to give their perfume too! THE SNOW SPIRIT. No, ne'er did the wave in its clement steep An island of lovelier charms; It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, Like Hebe in Hercules' arms! The tint of your bowers is balm to the eye, Their melody balm to the ear; But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, And the Snow Spirit never comes here! The down from his wing is as white as the pearl Thy lips for their cabinet stole, its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke. And it falls on the green earth as melt- | Oh for a Naiad's sparry bower, ing, my girl, As a murmur of thine on the soul! Oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, As he cradles the birth of the year; Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, But the Snow Spirit cannot come here! How sweet to behold him when, borne on the gale, And brightening the bosom of morn, He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil O'er the brow of each virginal thorn! Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts Is the veil of a vestal severe; here! But fly to his region-lay open thy zone, And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, To think that a bosom, as white as his own, Should not melt in the day-beam like him! Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet O'er his luminous path will appearFly! my beloved! this island is sweet, But the Snow Spirit cannot come here! Ενταυθα δε καθωρμισται ἡμιν. και ό, τι μεν ονομα τῇ νήσῳ ουκ οίδα χρυσή δ' αν προς γε μου ovoμasoiтo.-Philostrat. Icon. 17, lib. 2. I STOLE along the flowery bank, To shade me in that glowing hour! A little dove, of milky hue, I knew not what, but something sweet! What spell, what magic raised her there? The broad banana's embrace While many a bending sea-grape 1 Her eyelid's black and silken fringe drank The sprinkle of the feathery oar Lay on her cheek, of vermil tinge, And o'er her lip's reflecting dew The sea-side or mangrove grape, a native of Such as, declining dim and faint, the West Indies, The lamp of some beloved saint Doth shed upon a flowery wreath, I FOUND her not-the chamber seemed It felt as if her lips had shed And I could trace the hallowed print And Love himself had stamped the Oh, Nea! Nea! where wert thou? A KISS A L'ANTIQUE. Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps, 1 Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and Psyche at Florence, in which the position of Psyche's hand is finely expressive of affection. See the Museum Florentinum, tom. ii. tab. 43, Nor thought that time's eternal lapse Should see it grace a lovelier maid! Look, darling, what a sweet design! The more we gaze, it charms the more! Come,-closer bring that cheek to mine, And trace with me its beauties o'er. Thou seest, it is a simple youth By some enamoured nymph em- Look, Nea, love! and say, in sooth, Upon his curled head behind It seems in careless play to lie,1 Yet presses gently, half inclined To bring his lip of nectar nigh! Oh happy maid! too happy boy! The one so fond and faintly loth, The other yielding slow to joy Oh, rare indeed, but blissful both! Imagine, love, that I am he, And just as warm as he is chilling; Imagine too that thou art she, But quite as cold as she is willing: 'THE daylight is gone-but, before we depart, 'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash-tree, the Government of the day, was a wild and use. less speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was governor of the island some years since, proposed, if I mistake not, the establishment of a marine academy for the instruction of those children of West Indians who might be intended for any nautical employment. This was a more rational idea, and for something of this nature the island is admirably calculated. But the plan should be much more extensive, and embrace a Pinkerton has said that 'a good history and description of the Bermudas might afford a pleasing addition to the geographical library; but there certainly are not materials for such a work. The island, since the time of its discovery, has experienced so very few vicissitudes, the people have been so indolent, and their trade so limited, that there is but little which the historian could amplify into importance; and, with respect to the natural productions of the country, the few which the inhabitants can be induced to culti-general system of education, which would entirely vate are so common in the West Indies, that they have been described by every naturalist who has written any account of those islands. It is often asserted by the transatlantic politicians, that this little colony deserves more attention from the mother-country than it receives; and it certainly possesses advantages of situation, to which we should not be long insensible ifit were once in the hands of an enemy. I was told by a celebrated friend of Washington, at New York, that they had formed a plan for its capture towards the conclusion of the American War, with the intention (as he expressed himself) of making it a nest of hornets for the annoyance of British trade in that part of the world.' And there is no doubt it lies so fairly in the track to the West Indies, that an enemy might with ease convert it into a very harassing impediment. The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at Bermuda, where American savages might be converted an 1 educated, though concurred in by remove the alternative in which the colonists are involved at present, of either sending their sons to England for instruction, or entrusting them to colleges in the States of America, where ideas by no means favourable to Great Britain are very sedulously inculcated. The women of Bermuda, though not generally handsome, have an affectionate languor in their look and manner, which is always interesting. What the French imply by their epithet aimante seems very much the character of the young Bermudian girls-that predisposition to loving, which, without being awakened by any particu lar object, diffuses itself through the general manner in a tone of tenderness that never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, I confess, are not very civilised; and the old philosopher, who imagined that, after this life, men would be changed into mules, and women into turtle. doves, would find the metamorphosis in some degree anticipated at Bermuda, Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour Last night, when we came from the calabash-tree, The friends, who were dear and beloved before, Oh, magic of love! unembellished by you, 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, 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, 1 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the nymphs. A ship, ready to sail for England. |