Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose,
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows!
Take Christians, Mohawks, Democrats, and all
From the rude wig-wam to the congress-hall,
From man the savage, whether slaved or free,
To man the civilized, less tame than he!
'T is one dull chaos, one unfertile strife
Betwixt half-polish'd and half-barbarous life;
Where every ill the ancient world can brew
Is mix'd with every grossness of the new;
Where all corrupts, though little can entice,
And nothing's known of luxury, but vice!

Is this the region, then, is this the clime
For golden fancy! for those dreams sublime,
Which all their miracles of light reveal

To heads that meditate and hearts that feel?
No, no-the Muse of inspiration plays
O'er every scene; she walks the forest-maze,
And climbs the mountain; every blooming spot
Burns with her step, yet man regards it not!
She whispers round, her words are in the air,
But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there,
Without one breath of soul, divinely strong,
One
ray of heart to thaw them into song!

Yet, yet forgive me, oh you sacred few!
Whom late by Delaware's green banks I knew;
Whom, known and loved through many a social eve,
'T was bliss to live with, and 't was pain to leave!'
Less dearly welcome were the lines of yore
The exile saw upon the sandy shore,

When his lone heart but faintly hoped to find
One print of man, one blessed stamp of mind!
Less dearly welcome than the liberal zeal,
The strength to reason, and the warmth to feel,
The manly polish and the illumined taste,
Which, 'mid the melancholy, heartless waste
My foot has wandered, oh you sacred few!
I found by Delaware's green banks with you.
Long may you hate the Gallic dross that runs
O'er your fair country and corrupts its sons;
Long love the arts, the glories which adorn

Those fields of freedom, where your sires were born;
Oh! if America can yet be great,

If, neither chain'd by choice, nor damn'd by fate
To the mob-mania which imbrutes her now,
She yet can raise the bright but temperate brow
Of single majesty, can grandly place
An empire's pillar upon Freedom's base,
Nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler prove
For the fair capital that flowers above!-
If yet, released from all that vulgar throng,
So vain of dullness and so pleased with wrong,
Who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide
Folly in froth, and barrenness in pride,

'In the society of Mr Dennie and his friends, at Philadelphia, I passed the few agreeable moments which my tour through the States afforded me. Mr Dennie has succeeded in diffusing through this elegant little circle that love for good literature and sound politics, which he feels so zealously himself, and which is so very rarely the characteristic of his countrymen. They will not, I trust, accuse me of illiberality for the picture which I have given of the ignorance and corruption that surround them. If I did not hate, as I ought, the rabble to which they are opposed, I could not value, as I do, the spirit with which they defy it; and in learning from them what Americans can be, I but see with the more indignation what Americans are.

She yet can rise, can wreathe the attic charms
Of soft refinement round the pomp of arms,
And see her poets flash the fires of song,
To light her warriors' thunderbolts along!
It is to you, to souls that favouring Heaven
Has made like yours, the glorious task is given-
Oh! but for such Columbia's days were done;
Rank without ripeness, quicken'd without sun,
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core,

Her fruits would fall, before her spring were o'er!

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd the hours
Where Schuylkill undulates through banks of flowers,
Though few the days, the happy evenings few,
So warm with heart, so rich with mind they flew,
That my full soul forgot its wish to roam,
And rested there, as in a dream of home!
And looks I met, like looks I loved before,
And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er
The chord of memory, found full many a tone
Of kindness there in concord with their own!
Oh! we had nights of that communion free,
That flush of heart, which I have known with thee
So oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and mind,
Of whims that taught, and follies that refined:
When shall we both renew them? when, restored
To the pure feast, and intellectual board,
Shall I once more enjoy with thee and thine
Those whims that teach, those follies that refine?
Even now, as, wandering upon Eric's shore,
I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar,

I sigh for England-oh! these weary feet
Have many a mile to journey ere we meet!
Ο πατρίς, ως του καρτα νυν μνείαν έχω.

TO

A WARNING.

On fair as Heaven and chaste as light!
Did Nature mould thee all so bright,
That thou shouldst ever learn to weep
O'er languid Virtue's fatal sleep,
O'er shame extinguish'd, honour fled,
Peace lost, heart wither'd, feeling dead?

No, no! a star was born with thee,
Which sheds eternal purity!
Thou hast within those sainted eyes
So fair a transcript of the skies,
In lines of fire such Ivavenly lore,
That man should read them and adore!
Yet have I known a gentle maid
Whose early charms were just array'd
In Nature's loveliness like thine,
And wore that clear, celestial sign,
Which seems to mark the brow that's fan
For Destiny's peculiar care!

Whose bosom too was once a zone
Where the bright gem of Virtue shone;
Whose eyes were talismans of fire
Against the spell of man's desire!
Yet, hapless girl, in one sad hour
Her charms have shed their radiant flower;

The gem has been beguiled away;

Her have lost their chastening ray;
eyes
The simple fear, the guiltless shame,
The smiles that from reflection came,
All, all have fled, and left her mind
A faded monument behind!

Like some wave-beaten, mouldering stone,
To memory raised by hands unknown,
Which, many a wintry hour, has stood
Beside the ford of Tyra's flood,

To tell the traveller, as he cross'd,
That there some loved friend was lost;
Oh!'t was a sight I wept to see→→

Heaven keep the lost-one's fate from thee!

Whose harp around my altar swells, The sweetest of a thousand shells?.

"T was thus the deity, who treads
The arch of Heaven, and grandly sheds
Day from his eye-lids !-thus he spoke,
As through my cell his glories broke:

. Who is the maid, with golden hair, With eyes of fire and feet of air, Whose harp around my altar swells, The sweetest of a thousand shells?»

Aphelia is the Delphic fair,
With eyes of fire and golden hair,
Aphelia's are the airy feet,
And hers the harp divinely sweet;

For foot so light has never trod
The laurel'd caverns of the god,
Nor harp so soft has ever given
A strain to earth or sigh to Heaven!

، Then tell the virgin to unfold, In looser pomp, her locks of gold, And bid those eyes with fonder fire Be kindled for a god's desire; 3 Since He, who lights the path of yearsEven from the fount of morning's tears, To where his setting splendours burn Upon the western sea-maid's urnCannot, in all his course, behold Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold! Tell her he comes in blissful pride, His lip yet sparkling with the tide That mantles in Olympian bowls, The nectar of eternal souls! For her, for her he quits the skies, And to her kiss from nectar flies.

nation towards any fair visitor of the shrine, and at the same time felt a diffidence in his own powers of persuasion, he had but to proclaim that the God himself was enamoured of her, and had signified his divine will that she should sleep in the interior of the temple. Many a pious husband connived at this divine assignation, and even declared himself proud of the selection with which his family had been distinguished by the deity. In the temple of Jupiter Belus there was a splendid bed for these occasions. In Egyptian Thebes the same mockery was practised; and at the oracle of Patara in Lycia, the priestess never could prophecy till an interview with the deity was allowed her. The story which we read in Josents (lib. xviii, cap. 3) of the Roman matron Paulina, whom the priests of Isis, for a bribe, betrayed in this manner to Mundus, is a singular instance of the impudent excess to which credulity suffered these impostures to be carried. This story has been put into the form of a little novel, under the name of La Pudicitia Schernita, by the licentious and unfortunate PALLAVICINO. See his Opere Scelte, tom. i.-I have made my priest here prefer a cave to the temple.

In the 9th Pythic of Pindar, where Apollo, in the same manner. requires of Chiron some information respecting the fair Cyrene, the Centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologises for telling the god what his omniscience must know so perfectly already:

Ει δε γε χρη και παρ σοφον αντιφεριξαι
Epew.

a Allets dapyoon guzha Bnoomat Tads. --EnIPID. Ion. v. 76.

Ne deve partorir ammiratione ch' egli si pregiasse di haver una Deità concorrente nel possesso della moglie; mentre anche noi nei nostri secoli, non ostante così rigorose legge d'onore, trovasi chi s'ascrive à gloria il veder la moglie honorata da gl' amplessi di un Principe.--PALLAVICINO.

Oh! he would hide his wreath of rays,
And leave the world to pine for days,
Might he but pass the hours of shade
Imbosom'd by his Delphic maid—
She, more than earthly woman blest,
He, more than god on woman's breast!.

There is a cave beneath the steep, '
Where living rills of crystal weep
O'er herbage of the loveliest hue
That ever spring begemm'd with dew.
There oft the green bank's glossy tint
Is brighten'd by the amorous print
Of many a faun and Naiad's form,
That still upon the dew is warm
When virgins come at peep of day
To kiss the sod where lovers lay!

The Corycian Cave, which PAUSANIAS mentions. The inhabitants of Parnassus held it sacred to the Corycian nymphs, who were chil dren of the river Plistus.

* See a preceding note, page 91. It should seem that lunar spi rits were of a purer order than spirits in general, as Pythagoras was Isaid by his followers to have descended from the regions of the moon. The heresiarch Manes too imagined that the sun and moon are the residence of Christ, and that the ascension was nothing more than his flight to those orbs.

Temple of Jupiter Belus, at Babylon, which consisted of several chapels and towers. In the last tower (says HERODOTES) is a large chapel, in which there lies a bed, very splendidly ornamented, and beside it a table of gold; but there is no statue in the place. No man is allowed to sleep here, but the apartment is appropriated to a female, whom, if we believe the Chaldean priests, the deity selects from the women of the country, as his favourite.-Lib. i, cap. 181. The poem now before the reader, and a few more in the present collection, are taken from a work, which I rather prematurely announced to the public, and which, perhaps very luckily for myself, was interrupted by my voyage to America. The following fragments from the same work describe the effect of one of these invitations of Apollo upon the mind of a young enthusiastic girl.

Delphi heard her shrine proclaim,

In oracles, the guilty flame.
Apollo loved my youthful charms,
Apollo woo'd me to his arms!-
Sure, sure when man so oft allows
Religion's wreath to bind his brows,
Weak wondering woman must believe,
Where pride and zeal at once deceive,
When flattery takes a holy vest,
Oh! 't is too much for woman's breast!

How often ere the destined time,
Which was to seal my joys sublime,
How often did I trembling run
To meet, at morn, the mounting sun,
And, while his fervid beam be threw
Upon my lips luxuriant dew,

I thought-alas! the simple dream-
There burn'd a kiss in every beam;
With parted lips inhaled their heat,
And sigh'd, Oh God! thy kiss is sweet!

Tell him, when to his midnight loves

In mystic majesty he moves,
Lighted by many an odorous fire,
And hymn'd by all Chaldæa's choir-
Oh! tell the godhead to confess,
The pompous joy delights him less
(Even though his mighty arms infold
A priestess on a couch of gold)
Than when in love's unholier prank,
By moonlight cave or rustic bank,
Upon his neck some wood-nymph lies,
Exhaling from her lip and eyes
The flame and incense of delight,
To sanctify a dearer rite,

A mystery, more divinely warm'd
Than priesthood ever yet perform'd!»

Happy the maid, whom Heaven allows
To break for Heaven her virgin vows!
Happy the maid!—her robe of shame
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame,
Whose glory, with a lingering trace,
Shines through and deifies her race!

Oh, virgin! what a doom is thine!
To-night, to-night a lip divine

Oft too, at day's meridian bour,
When to the Naiad's gleamy bower
Our virgins steal, and, blushing, hide
Their beauties in the folding tide,

If, through the grove, whose modest arms
Were spread around my robeless charms,
A wandering sunbeam wanton fell
Where lovers' looks alone should dwell,
Not all a lover's looks of flame
Could kindle such an amorous shame.
It was the sun's admiring glance,
And, as I felt its glow advance
O'er my young beauties, wildly flush'd,
I burn'd and panted, thrill'd and blush'd!

No deity at midnight came:
The lamps, that witness'd all my shame,
Reveal'd to these bewilder'd eyes
No other shape than earth supplies;
No solar light, no nectar'd air,
All, all, alas! was human there:
Woman's faint conflict, virtue's fall
And passion's victory, human all!
How gently must the guilt of love
Be charm'd away by Powers above,
When men possess such tender skill
In softening crime and sweetening ill!
'T was but a night, and morning's rays
Saw me, with fond, forgiving gaze,
Hang o'er the quiet slumbering breast
Of him who ruin'd all my rest;
Him, who had taught these eyes to weep
Their first sad tears, and yet could sleep!

FONTENELLE, in his playful rifacimento of the learned materials of Van-Dale, has related in his own inimitable manner an adventure of this kind which was detected and exposed at Alexandria.-See Histoire des Oracles, seconde dissertat. chap. vii. CREBILLON, 100, in one of his most amusing little stories, has made the Génie MangeTaupes, of the Isle Jonquille, assert this privilege of spiritual beings in a manner very formidable to the husbands of the island. He says, however, Les maris ont le plaisir de rester toujours dans le doute; en pareil cas, c'est une ressource..

Let me but see that snowy arm

Once more upon the dear harp lie, And I will cease to dream of harm, Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh!

Give me that strain, of mournful touch,
We used to love long, long ago,
Before our hearts had known as much
As now, alas! they bleed to know!

Sweet notes! they tell of former peace,
Of all that look'd so rapturous then,
Now wither'd, lost-oh! pray thee, cease,
I cannot bear those sounds again!

Art thou too wretched? yes, thou art;
I see thy tears flow fast with mine-
Come, come to this devoted heart,
"T is breaking, but it still is thine!

A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY.

'T WAS on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met
The venerable man: a virgin bloom
Of softness mingled with the vigorous thought
That tower'd upon his brow; as when we see
The gentle moon and the full radiant sun
Shining in heaven together. When he spoke,
'T was language sweeten'd into song-such holy sounds
As oft the spirit of the good man hears,
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven,
When death is nigh! and still, as he unclosed
His sacred lips, an odour, all as bland
As ocean-breezes gather from the flowers
That blossom in Elysium,3 breathed around!
With silent awe we listen'd while he told
Of the dark veil which many an age had hung
O'er nature's form, till by the touch of Time
The mystic shroud grew thin and luminous,
And half the goddess beam'd in glimpses through it!
Of magic wonders, that were known and taught
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named)
Who mused, amid the mighty cataclysm,

'In PLUTARCH'S Essay on the Decline of the Oracles, Cleombrotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an extraordinary man whom he had met with, after long research, upon the banks of the Red Sea. Once in every year this supernatural personage appeared to mortals, and conversed with them; the rest of his time he passed among the Genii and the Nymphs. Περί την ερυθραν θάλασσαν εύρον, ανθρωποις ανα πάν ετος άπαξ εντυγχάνοντα, τ' αλλα δε συν ταις νυμφαις, νομασι και δαίμοσι, ὡς ἔφασκε. He spoke in a tone not far removed from singing, and whenever he opened his lips, a fragrance filled the place: 877μevOU DE τον τόπον ευωδια κατείχε, του ςόματος ήδιςον απο TIVEOVTOS. From him Cleombrotus learned the doctrine of a plurality of worlds.

* The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little before his death, imagined that he heard a strain of music in the air. See the poem of HEINSIUS « In harmoniam quam paulo ante obitum audire sibi visus est Dousa. Page 501.