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And when, with all thy murmuring tone,

They sued half-open to be kissed, I could as soon resist thine own,

And them, Heaven knows, I ne'er resist. Then scorn me not, though false I be,

'Twas love that waked the dear excess: My heart had been more true to thee,

Had mine eye prized thy beauty less !

TO

WHEN I loved you, I can't but allow

I had many an exquisite minute ; But the scom that I feel for you now

Hath even more luxury in it ! Thus, whether we're on or we're off,

Some witchery seems to await you: To love you is pleasant enough,

And oh! 'tis delicious to hate you !

FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER.
Fill high the cup with liquid flame,
And speak my Heliodora's name !
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er,
And let the sound my lips adore,
Sweeten the breeze, and mingling swim
On every bowl's voluptuous brim !
Give me the wreath that withers there ;

It was but last delicious night
It hung upon her wavy hair,

And caught her eyes' reflected light ! Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow; It breathes of Heliodora now! The loving rosebud drops a tear To see the nymph no longer here, No longer, where she used to lie, Close to my heart's devoted sigh!

LINES,
WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA.
That sky of clouds is not the sky
To light a lover to the pillow

Of her he loves-
The swell of yonder foaming billow
Resembles not the happy sigh

That rapture moves.

Yet do I feel more tranquil far
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean,

In this dark hour,
Than when, in transport's young emotion,
I've stolen, beneath the evening star,

To Julia's bower.
Oh! there's a holy calm profound
In awe like this, that ne'er was given

To rapture's thrill;
'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven,
And the soul, listening to the sound,

Lies mute and still!
'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh,
Of slumbering with the dead to-morrow

In the cold deep,
Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow
No more shall wake the heart or eye,

But all must sleep!
Well !—there are some, thou stormy bed,
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure;

Oh! most to him
Whose lip hath drained life's cup of pleasure,
Nor left one honey drop to shed

Round misery's brim. Yes-he can smile serene at death : Kind Heaven! do Thou but chase the weeping

Of friends who love him ; Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath

No more shall move him.

ODES TO NEA.

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.
Nea Tupavvel.-Eurip. Medea, v. 967.
Nay, tempt me not to love again.

There was a time when love was sweet :
Dear Nea ! had I known thee then,

Our souls had not been slow to meet ! But oh! this weary heart hath run,

So many a time, the rounds of pain,
Not even for thee, thou lovely one !

Would I endure such pangs again.
If there be climes where never yet
The print of beauty's foot was set,
Where man may pass his loveless nights,
Unfevered by her false delights,
Thither my wounded soul would fly,
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye

Should bring no more their bliss, their pain.
Or fetter me to earth again!
Dear absent girl ! whose eyes of light,

Though little prized when all my own,
Now float before me, soft and bright

As when they first enamouring shone!
How many hours of idle waste,
Within those witching arms embraced,
Unmindful of the fleeting day,
Have I dissolved life's dream away!
O bloom of time profusely shed !
O moments! simply, vainly fled,
Yet sweetly too—for Love perfumed
The flame which thus my life consumed ;
And brilliant was the chain of flowers
In which he led my victim-hours !
Say, Nea dear! couldst thou, like her,
When warm to feel and quick to err,
Of loving fond, of roving fonder,
My thoughtless soul might wish to wander,
Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim,

Endearing still, reproaching never,
Till all my heart should burn with shame,

And be thy own more fixed than ever?
No, no-on earth there's only one

Could bind such faithless folly fast :
And sure on earth 'tis I alone

Could make such virtue false at last !
Nea! the heart which she forsook

For thee were but a worthless shrine
Go, lovely girl, that angel look

Must thrill a soul more pure than mine.
Oh! thou shalt be all else to me

That heart can feel or tongue can feigu ; I'll praise, admire, and worship thee,

But must not, dare not love again.

ODES TO NEA.
Tale iter omne cave. ---Propertlib. iv. eleg. 8.
I PRAY you, let us roam no more
Along that wild and lonely shore

Where late we thoughtless strayed ;
'Twas not for us, whom Heaven intends
To be no more than simple friends,

Such lonely walks were made.

That little Bay, where, winding in
From ocean's rude and angry din,

A

(As lovers steal to bliss)
The billows kiss the shore, and then
Flow calmly to the deep again,

As chough they did not kiss!
Remember, o'er its circling flood
In what a dangerous dream we stood-

The silent sea before us,
Around us, all the gloom of grove,
That e'er was spread for guilt or love,

No eye but Nature's o'er us !
I saw you blush, you felt me tremble,
In vain would formal art dissemble

All that we wished and thought; 'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas more than virtue ought to feel,

But all that passion ought!
I stooped to cull, with faltering hand,
A shell that, on the golden sand,

Before us faintly gleamed ;
I raised it to your lips of dew,
You kissed the shell, I kissed it too-

Good heaven! how sweet it seemea !
Oh! trust me, 'twas a place, an hour,
The worst that e'er temptation's power

Could tangle me or you in! Sweet Nea ! let us roam no more Along that wild and lonely shore;

Such walks will be our ruin!

You read it in my languid eyes,

And there alone should love be read; You hear me say it all in sighs,

And thus alone should love be said. Then dread no more; I will not speak;

Although my heart to anguish thrill, I'll spare the burning of your cheek,

And look it all in silence still ! Heard you the wish I dared to name,

To murmur on that luckless night, When passion broke the bonds of shame,

And love grew madness in your sight? Divinely through the graceful dance

You seemed to float in silent song, Bending to earth that beamy glance,

As if to light your steps along !

Oh! how could others dare to touch

That hallowed form with hand so free,
When but to look was bliss too much,

Too rare for all but heaven and me!
With smiling eyes, that little thought

How fatal were the beams they threw,
My trembling hands you lightly caught,

And round me, like a spirit, flew.
Heedless of all, I wildly turned,

My soul forgot-nor oh ! condemn
That when such eyes before me burned,

My soul forgot all eyes but them!
I dared to speak in sobs of bliss,

Rapture of every thought bereft me;
I would have clasped you—oh even this ! -

But, with a bound, you blushing left me.
Forget, forget that night's offence,

Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ;
'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and sense-

'Twas all the best and worst of man !
That moment, did the mingled eyes

Of heaven and earth my madness view,
I should have seen, through earth and skies,

But you alone, but only you !
Did not a frown from you reprove,

Myriads of eyes to me were none;
I should have—oh, my only love!
My life! what should I not have done?

A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.
I JUST had turned the classic page,

And traced that happy period over
When love could warm the proudest sage,

And wisdom grace the tenderest lover !
Before I laid me down to sleep,

Upon the bank awhile I stood,
And saw the vestal planet weep

Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
My heart was full of fancy's dream,
And, as I watched the playful stream,
Entangling in its net of smiles
So fair a group of elfin isles,
I felt as if the scenery there

Were lighted by a Grecian sky-
As if I breathed the blissful air

That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!

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