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Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew,
Not the silvery lapse of the summer-eve dew,
Were as sweet as the breeze, or as bright as the foam
Of the wave that would carry your wanderer home!


Quand l'homme commence à raisonner, cesse de sentir.'--J.J. Rousseau.

'Twas in the summer-time so sweet,

When hearts and flowers are both in season,
That-who, of all the world, should meet,

One early dawn, but Love and Reason !
Love told his dream of yesternight,

While Reason talked about the weather;
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,

And on they took their way together.
The boy in many a gambol flew,

While Reason like a Juno stalked,
And from her portly figure threw

A lengthened shadow as she walked.
No wonder Love, as on they passed,

Should find the sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast

Fell on the boy, and cooled him still.
In vain he tried his wings to warm,

Or find a pathway not so dim,
For still the maid's gigantic form

Would pass between the sun and him !
• This must not be,' said little Love-

• The sun was made for more than you.'
So, turning through a myrtle grove,

He bid the portly nymph adieu !
Now gaily roves the laughing boy

O'er many a mead, by many a stream;
In every breeze inhaling joy,

And drinking bliss in every beam.
From all the gardens, all the bowers,

He culled the many sweets they shaded,
And ate the fruits and smelt the flowers,

Till taste was gone and odour faded !
But now the sun, in pomp of noon,

Looked blazing o'er the parched plains ;
Alas! the boy grew languid soon,

And fever thrilled through all his veins !

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NAY, do not weep, my Fanny dear !

While in these arms you lie;
The world hath not a wish, a fear,
That ought to claim one precious tear

From that beloved eye!
The world !-ah, Fanny ! Love must shun

The path where many rove;
One bosom to recline upon,
One heart, to be his only one,

Are quite enough for Love !
What can we wish, that is not here

Between your arms and mine?
Is there on earth a space so dear,
As that within the blessed sphere

Two loving arms entwine ?
For me, there's not a lock of jet

Along your temples curled,
Within whose glossy, tangling net,
My soul doth not, at once, forget

All, all the worthless world!

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'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love !

My only worlds I see;
Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below, and skies above

May frown or smile for me !


'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower,
That Love and Learning many an hour
In dalliance met, and Learning smiled
With rapture on the playful child,
Who wanton stole to find his nest
Within a fold of Learning's vest !
There, as the listening statesman hung
In transport on Aspasia's tongue,
The destinies of Athens took
Their colour from Aspasia's look.
Oh, happy time! when laws of state,
When all that ruled the country's fate,
In glory, quiet, or alarms,
Was planned between two snowy arms !

Sweet times ! you could not always last-
And yet, oh! yet, you are not past;
Though we have lost the sacred mould
In which their were cast of old,
Woman, dear woman, still the same,
While lips are balm and looks are flame,
While man possesses heart or eyes,
Woman's bright empire never dies !
Fanny, my love, they ne'er shall

That beauty's charm hath passed away ;
No-give the universe a soul
Attuned to woman's soft control,
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill,
To wield a universe at will !



χι τε καλος
Πυθαγορης, οσσοι τε χορον στηριξαν ερωτος.

Atow trepi TIAWTivov. --Oracul. Asetric. a Joan. Opsop. collecta.
Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray,
That called thee, dearest, from these arms away?
I lingered still, in all the murmuring rest,
The languor of a soul too richly blest !
Upou my breath thy sigh yet faintly hung;
Thy name yet died in whispers o'er my tongue ;

1 It was imagined by some of the ancients that ingly, we find that the word Ikeavos was some. there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the times synonymous with anp, and that death was sun and moon are two floating luminous islands, not unfrequently called Nkeavoro tropos, or the in which the spirits of the blessed reside. Accord- passage of the ocean.'

I heard thy lyre, which thou hadst left behind,
In amorous converse with the breathing wind;
Quick to my heart I pressed the shell divine,
And with a lip yet glowing warm from thine,
I kissed its every chord, while every kiss
Shed o'er the chord some dewy print of bliss.
Then soft to thee I touched the fervid lyre,
Which told such melodies, such notes of fire,
As none but chords that drank the burning dews
Of kisses dear as ours could e'er diffuse !
Oh love ! how blissful is the bland repose
That soothing follows upon rapture's close,
Like a soft twilight, o'er the mind to shed
Mild melting traces of the transport fled !

While thus I lay, in this voluptuous calm,
A drowsy languor steeped my eyes in balm,
Upon my lap the lyre in murmurs fell,
While, faintly wandering o'er its silver shell,
My fingers soon their own sweet requiem played,
And slept in music which themselves had made !
Then, then, my Theon, what a heavenly dream !
I saw two spirits on the lunar beam,
Two winged boys, descending from above,
And gliding to my bower with looks of love,
Like the young genii, who repose their wings
All day in Amatha's luxurious springs,
And rise at midnight, from the tepid rill,
To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill!
Soft o'er my brow, which kindled with their sighs,
Awhile they played; then gliding through my eyes
(Where the bright babies for a moment hung,
Like those thy lip hath kissed, thy lyre hath sung),
To that dim mansion of my breast they stole,
Where, wreathed in blisses, lay my captive soul.
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties that clung
So sweetly round her, and aloft she sprung!
Exulting guides, the little genii flew
Through paths of light, refreshed with starry dew,
And fanned by airs of that ambrosial breath,
On which the free soul banquets after death!

Thou know'st, my love, beyond our clouded skies,
As bards have dreamed, the spirits' kingdom lies,
Through that fair clime a sea of ether rolls,
Gemmed with bright islands, where the hallowed souls,
Whom life hath wearied in its race of hours,
Repose for ever in unfading bowers !

· Eunapius, in his Life of Jamblichus, tells us of author of the Dii Fatidici, p. 160) illos esse loci two beautiful little spirits or loves, which Jam- Genios:' which words, however, are not in Eunablichus raised by enchantment from the warm pius. springs at Gadara; 'dicens astantibus (says the I find from Cellarius, that Amatha, in the

That very orb, whose solitary light
So often guides thee to my arms at night,
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love,
Floating in splendour through those seas above !
Thither, I thought, we winged our airy way,
Mild o'er its valleys streamed a silvery day,
While all around, on lily beds of rest,
Reclined the spirits of the immortal Blest !!
Oh! there I met those few congenial maids,
Whom love hath warmed, in philosophic shades ;
There still Leontium, 2 on her sage's breast,
Found lore and love, was tutored and caressed ;
And there the twine of Pythia's 3 gentle arms
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms !
The Attic Master, 4 in Aspasia's eyes,
Forgot the toil of less endearing ties;
While fair Theano,5 innocently fair,
Played with the ringlets of her Samian's hair,
Who, fixed by love, at length was all her own,
And passed his spirit through her lips alone!
Oh Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought
Of mystic Numbers hath divinely wrought,
The One that's formed of Two who dearly love,
Is the best number Heaven can boast above !


neighbourhood of Gadara, was also celebrated philosopher was of course censured. It would for its warm springs, and I have preferred it as be well, however, if some of our modern Stagy. a more poetical name than Gadara.

rites had a little of this superstition about the There were various opinions among the memory of their mistresses. ancients with respect to their lunar establish

* Socrates, who used to console himself in the ment: some made it an elysium, and others a society of Aspasia for those less endearing ties' purgatory; while some supposed it to be a kind which he found at home with Xantippe. For an of entrepôt between heaven and earth, where account of this extraordinary creature, Aspasia, souls which had left their bodies, and those that and her school of erudite luxury at Athens, see were on their way to join then, were deposited L'Histoire de l'Académie, etc., tom. xxxi. p. 69. in the valleys of Hecate, and remained till further Ségur rather fails on the subject of Aspasia. Les orders. Τοις περι σεληνην αερι λεγειν αυτας Femmes, tom. 1. p. 122. κατοικειν, και απ' αυτης κατω χωρειν εις την The author of the Voyage du Monde de DesTTEPLYELov yeveoiv. - Stob. lib. i. Eclog. Physic.

cartes has also placed those philosophers in the a The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who moon, and has allotted Seigneuries to them, as called her his dear little Leontium' (Acortaplov), well as to the astronomers (part 2, p. 143); but as appears by a fragment of one of his Letters in' he ought not to have forgotten their wives and Laertius. This Leontium was a woman of talent; mistresses; curæ non ipsa in morte relin‘she had the impudence (says Cicero) to write quunt. against Theophrastus ;' and, at the same time, Cicero gives her a name which is neither polite

5 There are some sensible letters extant under nor translateable. “Meretricula etiam Leontium the name of this fair Pythagorean. They are contra Theophrastum scribere ausa est,' - De addressed to her female friends upon the educaNatur. Deor. She left a daughter, called Danae, tion of children, the treatment of servants, etc. who was just as rigid an Epicurean as her One, in particular, to Nicoștrata, whose husband mother; something like Wieland's Danae in had given her reasons for jealousy, contains such Agathon.

truly considerate and rational advice, that it "It would sound much better, I think, if the ought to be translated for the edification of all name were Leontia, as it occurs the first time in married ladies. See Gale's Opuscul. Myth. Phys. Laertius; but M. Menage will not hear of this p. 741, reading.

6 Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and 3 Pythia was a woman whom Aristotle loved, Dr. Thiers (in his Histoire des Perruques) seems to and to whom, after her death, he paid divine take for granted it was all his own, as he has not honours, solemnizing her memory by the same mentioned him among those ancients who were sacrifices which the Athenians offered to the obliged to have recourse to the 'coma apposigoddess Ceres. For this impious gallantry the titia.'--L'Hist. des Perruques, chap. 1,

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