No form of beauty soothed thine eye, As through the dim expanse it wandered wide; As o'er the watery waste it lingering died! Unfelt the pulse, unknown the power, That latent in his heart was sleeping; Saw Love himself by absence weeping! But look what glory through the darkness beams! What spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide So lovely? art thou but the child Of the young godhead's dreams, That mock his hope with fancies strange and wild? Till, kindled by the ardent spell Of his desiring eyes, And all impregnate with his sighs, They spring to life in shape so fair and warm? ON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADELAIDE F-RB-S. Donington Park, 1802. To catch the thought, by painting's spell, And o'er the magic tablet tell O'er Nature's form to glance the eye, Her morning tinges ere they fly, Her evening blushes ere they fade! These are the pencil's grandest theme, Yet, yet, when Friendship sees the trace, On which her eye delights to rest; The smile of peace, the bloom of youth, The eye that tells the bosom's truth; While o'er each line, so brightly true, She feels the value of thy art, THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIP- TO A LAMP WHICH WAS GIVEN RIM Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna. OH! love the Lamp (my mistress The faithful lamp that, many a night, Beside thy Lais' lonely bed Has kept his little watch of light! 'Full often has it seen her weep, And fix her eye upon its flame, Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, Repeating her beloved's name! It was not very difficult to become a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, were all the necessary qualifications for the purpose. The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly understood, that the founder of a new sect, in forming his ethical code, might consult either fancy or temperament, and adapt it to his own passions and propensities; so that Mahomet, with a little more learning, might have flourished as a philosopher in those 'Oft has it known her cheek to burn With recollections, fondly free, And seen her turn, impassioned turn, To kiss the pillow, love! for thee, And, in a murmur, wish thee there, That kiss to feel, that thought to share! 'Then love the Lamp!-'twill often lead Thy step through Learning's sacred way; And, lighted by its happy ray, Whene'er those darling eyes shall read Of things sublime, of Nature's birth, Of all that's bright in heaven or earth, Oh! think that she, by whom 'twas given, Adores thee more than earth or heaven!' days, and would have required but the polish of the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in morality. In the science of nature, too, though they discovered some valuable truths, yet they seemed not to know that they were truths, or at least were as well satisfied with errors; and Xenophanes, who asserted that the stars were igneous clouds, lighted up every night and extinguished again in the morning, was thought and styled a philosopher, as generally as he who anticipated Newton in developing the arrangement of the universe. Yes, dearest Lamp! by every charm On which thy midnight beam has The neck reclined, the graceful arm By these, by all that bloom untold, My Lamp and I shall never part! 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 refined, Where still we catch the Chian's breath, Where still the bard, though cold in death, Has left his burning soul behind! Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades !2 shades The crystal of Castalia's wave. Then, turning to a purer lore, We'll cull the sages' heavenly store, From Science steal her golden clue, And every mystic path pursue, Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, Through labyrinths of wonder flies! 'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know The passing world's precarious flight, Where all that meets the morning glow Is changed before the fall of night! I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire, 'Swift, swift the tide of being runs ; The ancients had their lucernæ cubiculariæ, or bed-chamber lamps, which, as the Emperor Galienus said, 'nil cras meminere;' and with the same commendation of secrecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp, in Aristophanes, EKKλns. We may judge how fanciful they were in the use and embellishment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna which we find in the Romanum Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, p. 127. And Time, who bids thy flame expire, Will also quench yon heaven of suns !' Oh then, if earth's united power use, And man should think it guilt to lose? Pleasure! thou only good on earth !3 The sage's immortality! Then far be all the wisdom hence, And all the lore, whose tame control Would wither joy with chill delays ! Alas! the fertile fount of sense, At which the young, the panting soul Drinks life and love, too soon decays! Sweet Lamp! thou wert not formed to shed Thy splendour on a lifeless pageWhate'er my blushing Lais said Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 'Twas mockery all-her glance of joy Told me thy dearest, best employ! 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; Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's flight to the wretched village of Ascra. Epy. Kai Huep. v. 251. 3 Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses. Then shall I take my trembling way, Unseen, but to those worlds above, And, led by thy mysterious ray, Glide to the pillow of my love. Calm be her sleep, the gentle dear! Nor let her dream of bliss so near, Till o'er her cheek she thrilling feel My sighs of fire in murmur steal, And I shall lift the locks that flow Unbraided o'er her lids of snow, And softly kiss those sealed eyes, And wake her into sweet surprise! Or if she dream, oh! let her dream Of those delights we both have known, And felt so truly, that they seem Formed to be felt by us alone! Oh! I shall gaze till even the sigh In that one moment waits for me! Oh sages!-think on joy like this, And where's your boast of apathy? And every leaf she turned was still More bright than that she turned Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, A tear or two had dropped from Grief, Which Love had still to smooth again! But, oh! there was a blooming boy, Who often turned the pages o'er, And wrote therein such words of joy, As all who read still sighed for more ! And Pleasure was this spirit's name, And though so soft his voice and look, Yet Innocence, whene'er he came, Would tremble for her spotless book! For still she saw his playful fingers Filled with sweets and wanton toys; And well she knew the stain that lingers After sweets from wanton boys! And so it chanced, one luckless night He let his honey goblet fall O'er the dear book so pure, so white, And sullied lines, and marge and all! In vain he sought, with eager lip, The honey from the leaf to drink; For still the more the boy would sip, The deeper still the blot would sink! Oh! it would make you weep, to see The traces of this honey flood Steal o'er a page, where Modesty Had freshly drawn a rose's bud! And Fancy's emblems lost their glow, And Hope's sweet lines were all defaced, And Love himself could scarcely know What Love himself had lately traced! At length the urchin Pleasure fled, (For how, alas! could Pleasure stay?) And Love, while many a tear he| And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, shed, In blushes flung the book away! The index now alone remains, Of all the pages spoiled by Plea And oft, by this memorial aided, Brings back the pages now no more, And thinks of lines that long have faded! I know not if this tale be true, But thus the simple facts are stated; EPISTLE VII. TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M.D. FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. ΔΙΗΓΗΣΟΜΑΙ ΔΙΗΓΗΜΑΤΑ ΙΣΩΣ ΑΠΙΣΤΑ, ΚΟΙΝΩΝΑ ΩΝ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΑ ΟΥΚ ΕΧΩΝ. And look, how soft in yonder radiant wave, The 'black Aspasia' of the present of the United States, inter Avernales haud ignotissima nymphas,' has given rise to much pleasantry among the anti-democrat wits in America. On the original location of the ground now allotted for the seat of the Federal City (says Mr. Weld), the identical spot on which the Capitol now stands was called Rome. This anecdote is related by many as a certain prognostic of the future magnificence of this city, which is to be, as it were, a second Rome.'-Weld's Travels, Letter iv. 3 A little stream runs through the city, which, with intolerable affectation, they have styled the Tiber. It was originally called Goose Creek. 4'To be under the necessity of going through a deep wood for one or two miles, perhaps, in order to see a next-door neighbour and in the same city, is a curious, and I believe, a novel circumstance.-Weld, Letter iv. |