Since he who lights the path of years-
Even from the fount of morning's tears,
To where his setting splendours burn
Upon the western sea-maid's urn—
Cannot, 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.
Oh! he would hide his wreath of rays,
And leave the world to pine for days,
Might he but pass the hours of shade
Imbosomed 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 begemmed with dew.
There oft the green bank's glossy tint
Is brightened 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.

There, there," the god, impassioned, said, 66 Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, And the dim orb of lunar souls Along its shadowy pathway rollsThere shall we find our bridal bed; And ne'er did rosy rapture spread, Not even in Jove's voluptuous bowers A bridal bed so blest as ours!

"Tell the imperial god, who reigns
Sublime in oriental fanes,

Whose towering turrets paint their pride
Upon Euphrates' pregnant tide;
Tell him, when to his midnight loves
In mystic majesty he moves,
Lighted by many an odorous fire,
And hymned by all Chaldæa's choir-
Oh! tell the godhead to confess,
The pompous joy delights him less
(Even though his mighty arms enfold
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 warmed
Than priesthood ever yet performed!"

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

O virgin! what a doom is thine!
To-night, to-night a lip divine
In every kiss shall stamp on thee
A seal of immortality!

Fly to the cave, Aphelia, fly;

There lose the world and wed the sky!
There all the boundless rapture steal
Which gods can give or woman feel!

WOMAN.

AWAY, away-you're all the same,
A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng!
Oh! by my soul I burn with shame,
To think I've been your slave so long!

Slow to be warmed and quick to rove,
From folly kind, from cunning loth,
Too cold for bliss, too weak for love,
Yet feigning all that's best in both.

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign,
More joy it gives to woman's breast
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain
Than one true manly lover blest!

Away, away-your smile's a curse-
Oh! blot me from the race of men,
Kind, pitying Heaven! by death or worse,
Before I love such things again!

BALLAD STANZAS.

I KNEW, by the smoke that so gracefully curled
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,
And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world,
A heart that was humble might hope for it here!"

It was noon, and on flowers that languished around
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee;
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree.
And "Here in this lone little wood," I exclaimed,

"With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed, How blest could I live, and how calm could I die! "By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, And to know that I sighed upon innocent lips, Which had never been sighed on by any but mine!"

ΤΟ

Νοσει τα φιλτατα.

Euripides.

COME, take the harp-'tis vain to muse
Upon the gathering ills we see;

Oh! take the harp, and let me lose

All thoughts of ill in hearing thee!

1803.

Sing to me, love!-though death were near.
Thy song could make my soul forget—

Nay, nay, in pity dry that tear,

All may be well, be happy yet!

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 looked so rapturous then,
Now withered, 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,
'Tis breaking, but it still is thine!

A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY.

"TWAS on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met The venerable man ; a virgin bloom

Of softness mingled with the vigorous thought
That towered upon his brow; as when we see
The gentle moon and the full radiant sun
Shining in heaven together. When he spoke

'Twas language sweetened 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, breathed around!
With silent awe we listened, 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 beamed 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,

O'er his rude tablets of primeval lore,

Nor let the living star of science sink

Beneath the waters which ingulphed the world !—
Of visions by Calliope revealed

To him who traced upon his typic lyre

The diapason of man's mingled frame,

And the grand Doric heptachord of heaven!
With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane,
Which the grave sons of Mochus, many a night,
Told to the young and bright-haired visitant
Of Carmel's sacred mount !-Then, in a flow
Of calmer converse, he beguiled us on
Through many a maze of garden and of porch,
Through many a system where the scattered light
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam
From the pure sun, which, though refracted ali
Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still,

And bright through every change!-he spoke of

Him,

The lone, eternal One, who dwells above,

And of the soul's untraceable descent

From that high fount of spirit, through the grades

Of intellectual being, till it mix

With atoms vague, corruptible, and dark;

Nor even then, though sunk in earthly dross

Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch

Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still!
As some bright river, which has rolled along
Through meads of flowery light and mines of gold,
When poured at length into the dusky deep,
Disdains to mingle with its briny taint,
But keeps awhile the pure and golden tings,
The balmy freshness, of the fields it left!

And here the old man ceased-a winged train
Of nymphs and genii led him from our eyes.
The fair illusion fled! and, as I waked,
I knew my visionary soul had been
Among that people of aërial dreams
Who live upon the burning galaxy!

ΤΟ

THE world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not as I used to feel,

And life grew dark and love was gone!
No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath,
No tongue to call me kind and dear-
'Twas gloomy, and I wished for death!
But when I saw that gentle eye,

Oh! something seemed to tell me then
That I was yet too young to die,

And hope and bliss might bloom again!

With every beamy smile that crossed

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling which my heart had lost,

And peace, which long had learned to roam !

'Twas then in leed so sweet to live,

Hope looked so new and Love so kind,
That, though I weep, I still forgive
The ruin which they've left behind!

I could have loved you-oh so well!—
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows,
Is but a bright beguiling spell,

Which only lives while passion glows:
But, when this early flush declines,

When the heart's vivid morning fleets, You know not then how close it twines Round the first kindred soul it meets !

Yes, yes, I could have loved, as one

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall,
Finds something dear to rest upon,
Which pays him for the loss of all!

TO

DREAMS.

IN slumber, I prithee, how is it

That souls are oft taking the air,

And paying each other a visit,

While bodies are-Heaven knows where?