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Was ever witchery half so sweet !
Think, think how all my pulses beat,
As o'er the rustling bank I stole-
O you, that know the lover's soul,
It is for you to dream the bliss,
The tremblings of an hour like this!

A KISS A L'ANTIQUE. BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem

Within this simple ring of gold; 'Tis hallowed by the touch of them

Who lived in classic hours of old. Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps,

Upon her hand this gem displayed, 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,"

Thou seest, it is a simple youth

By some enamoured nymph embracedLook, Nea love ! and say in sooth

Is not her hand most dearly placed? Upon his curled head behind

It seems in careless play to lie, Yet presses gently, half inclined

To bring his lip of nectar nigh! O 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,

So may we try the graceful way

In which their gentle arms are twined, And thus, like her, my hand I lay

Upon thy wreathed hair behind : And thus I feel thee breathing sweet,

And thus our lips together meet,

And_thus I kiss thee--O my love!

.... Meßavorw ÉLKADEV, óri ároljevov évopalvel.

Aristot. Rhetor. lib, üi. cap. 4.
There's not a look, a word of thine

My soul hath e'er forgot ;
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,

Which I remember not !
There never yet a murmur fell

From that beguiling tongue
Which did not, with a lingering spell,
Upon my charmed senses dwell,

Like something heaven had sung !
Ah! that I could, at once, forget

All, all that haunts me som
And yet, thou witching girl !-and yet,
To die were sweeter than to let

The loved remembrance go!
No; if this slighted heart must see

Its faithful pulse decay,
Oh ! let it die, remembering thee,
And, like the burnt aroma, be

Consumed in sweets away!

TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ.

FROM BERMUDA.
1. The daylight is gone-but, before we depart,
One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart,
To the kindest, the dearest-oh! judge by the tear,
That I shed while I name him, how kind and how dear!"

'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash tree,
With a few who could feel and remember like me,
The charm that to sweeten my goblet I threw
Was a tear to the past and a blessing on you !

Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour
Of wine and of wit, when the heart is in Aower,
And shoots from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new-
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair,
And would pine in elysium, if friends were not there?

Last night, when we came from the calabash tree,
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free,
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day
Put the magical springs of my fancy in play;

And oh! such a vision as haunted me then
I could slumber for ages to witness again!
The many I like, and the few I adore,
The friends who were dear and beloved before,
But never till now so beloved and dear,
At the call of my fancy surrounded me here !
Soon, soon did the flattering spell of their smile
To a paradise brighten the blest little isle;
Serener the wave, as they looked on it, flowed,
And warmer the rose, as they gathered it, glowed !
Not the valleys Heräan (though watered by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills
Where the song of the shepherd, primæval and wild,
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child)
Could display such a bloom of delight as was given,
By the magic of love, to this miniature heaven !

Oh, magic of love ! unembellished by you, Has the garden a blush or the herbage a hue? Or blooms there a prospect in nature or art 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,
The rose and the stream I had thought of at night
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,
The bark that must carry these pages away*
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind,
And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel behind !
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove,
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love!
Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be,
And the sound of those gales would be music to me!
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!

Rousseau,

LOVE AND REASON.
Quand l'homme commence à raisonner, il cesse de sentir.
'Twas in the summer-time, so sweet,

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

One early dawn, but Love and Reason !

* A ship ready to sail for England,

Love told his dream of yester-night,

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 that 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 smelled 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 ! The dew forsook his baby brow,

No more with vivid bloom he smiledOh! where was tranquil Reason now

To cast her shadow o'er the child ?

Beneath a green and aged palm

His foot at length for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm,

With brow as cool as his was burning!

“Oh! take me to that bosom cold,”

In murmurs at her feet he said ; And Reason oped her garment's fold,

And Aung it round his fevered head.

He felt her bosom's icy touch,

And soon it lulled his pulse to rest ; For ah ! the chill was quite too much,

And Love expired on Reason's breast !

TO FANNY.
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 shule

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!
'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 !

ASPASIA.
'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.

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