And, while I sing the animated smiles
Of fairy nature in, these sun-born isles,

Oh! might the song awake some bright de-
sign,

Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line,
Proud were my soul, to see its humble thought
On painting's mirror so divinely caught,
And wondering Genius as he learn'd to trace
The faint conception kindling into grace,
Might love my numbers for the spark they
threw,

And bless the lay that lent a charm to you!

Have you not oft, in nightly vision, stray'd To the pure isles of ever-blooming shade, Which bards of old, with kindly magic plac'♣ For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste ?* There as eternal gales, with fragrance warm, Breath'd from elysium through each shadowy

form

In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song,
They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours
along!

Nor yet in song, that mortal ear may suit,
For every spirit was itself a lute,

Where virtue waken'd with elysian breeze,
Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies!

* M. Gebelin says, in his Monde Primitif, "Lors. que Strabon crut que les anciens théologiens et Poetes placaient les Champs Elysées dans les isles de l'Océan Atlantique, il n'entendit rien à leur doctrine." M. Gebelin's supposition, I have no doubt, is the more correct; but that of Strabo is, in the present instance, most to my purpose.

Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland Floated our bark to this enchanted land, These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, Like studs of emerald o'er a silver zone; Not all the charm, that ethnic fancy gave To blessed arbours o'er the western wave, Could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime,

Of bowers etherial and the spirit's clime

The morn was lovely, every wave was still, When the first perfume of a cedar-hill Sweetly awak'd us, and with smiling charms, The fairy harbour woo'd us to its arms.* Gently we stole, before the languid wind, Through plantain shades, that like an awning twin'd

And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, Breathing out welcome to these vernal vales; While, far reflected o'er the wave serene Each wooded island sheds so soft a green, That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play,

Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way!

Never did weary bark more sweetly glide, Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide!

*Nothing can be more romantic than the little harbour of St George. The number of beautiful islets, the singular clearness of the water, and the animated play of the graceful little boats, gliding for ever between the islands, and seeming to sail from one cedar-grove into another, form all together the sweetest miniature of nature that can be imagined.

Along the margin, many a brilliant dome,
White as the palace of a Lapland gnome,
Brighten'd the wave; in every myrtle grove
Secluded, bashful, like a shrine of love,
Some elfin mansion sparkled through the
shade;

And, while the foliage interposing play'd,
Wreathing the structure into various grace,
Fancy would love, in many a form, to trace
The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch,*
And dream of temples, till her kindling torch
Lighted me back to all the glorious days
Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount,
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad s fount.

Sweet airy being!† who, in brighter hours, Liv'd on the perfume of these honied bowers,

* This is an illusion which, to the few who are fanciful enough to indulge in it, renders the scenery of Bermuda particularly interesting. In the short but beautiful twilight of their spring evenings, the white cottages scattered over the islands, and but partially seen through the trees that surround them, assume often the appearance of little Grecian temples, and fancy may embellish the poor fisherman's hut with columns which the pencil of Claude might imitate. I had one favourite object of this kind in my walks, which the hospitality of its owner robbed me of, by asking me to visit him. He was a plain good man, and received me well and warmly, but I never could turn his house into a Grecian temple again.

Ariel. Among the many charms which Bermuda has for a poetic eye, we cannot for an instant forget that it is the scene of Shakspeare's Tempest, and that here he conjured up the " delicate Ariel," who alone is worth the whole heaven of ancient anythology.

In velvet buds, at evening lov'd to lie,
And win with music every rose's sigh!
Though weak the magic of my humble strain,
To charm your spirit from its orb again,
Yet, oh! for her, beneath whose smile I sing,
For her, (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing
Were dimm'd or ruffled by a wintry sky,
Could smooth its feather and relume its dye,)
A moment wander from your starry sphere,
And if the lime-tree grove that once was
dear,

The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill,
The sparkling grotto can delight you still,
Oh! take their fairest tint, their softest light,
Weave all their beauty into dreams of night,
And while the lovely artist slumbering lies,
Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes;
Borrow for sleep her own creative spells,
And brightly show what song but faintly
tells!

THE GENIUS OF HARMONY,

AN IRREGULAR ODE.

AD HARMONIAM CANERE MUNDUM.

Cicero de Nat. Deor. Lib. 3..

There lies a shell beneath the waves,
In many a hollow winding wreath'd,
Such as of old,

Echoed the breath that warbling sea-maid breath'd;

This magic shell

From the white bosom of a syren fell,
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves
Sicilia's sand of gold.
It bears

Upon its shining side, the mystic notes
Of those entrancing airs,*

* In the "Histoire naturelle des Antilles," there is an account of some curious shells, found at Curacoa, on the back of which were lines, filled with musical characters so distinct and perfect, that the writer assures us a very charming trio was sung from one of them. "On le nomme musical, parce qu'il porte sur le dos des lignes noirâtres pleines de notes, qui ont une espèce de clé pour les mettre en chant, de sorte que l'on dirait qu'il ne manque que la lettre à cette tablature naturelle. Ce curieux gentilhomme (M. du Montel) rapporte qu'il en a vu qui avaient cinq lignes, une clé et des notes, qui formaient un accord parfait. Quelqu'un y avait ajouté la lettre, que la nature avait oubliée, et la faisait chanter en forme de trio, dont l'air étate fort agréable." Chap. 19. Art. 11. The author adds, a poet might imagine that these shells were used by the syrens at their concerts.