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Yet, oh!--not many a suffering hour,

I heard, in home's beloved shade,
Thy cup of shame on earth was given :

The din the world at distance made ; Benignly came some pitying power,

When every night my weary head
And took the Lyre and thee to heaven!

Sunk on its own upthorned bed,

And, mild as evening's matron hour There, as thy lover dries the tear

Looks on the faintly shutting flower, Yet warm from life's malignant wrongs,

A mother saw our eyelids close, Within his arms, thou lovest to hear

And blessid them into pure repose ! The luckless Lyre's remember'd songs!

Then, haply if a week, a day,

I linger'd from your arms away, Still do your happy souls attune

How long the little absence seem'd! The notes it learn'd, on earth, to move ;

How bright the look of welcome beam'd, Still breathing o'er the chords, commune

As mute you heard, with eager smile,
In sympathies of angel love!

My tales of all that pass'd the while !
Yet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea

Rolls wide between that home and me,

The moon may thrice be born and die, When I have seen thy snowy wing

Ere even your seal can reach mine eye ; O'er the blue wave at evening spring,

And oh! even then, that darling seal And give those scales, of silver white,

(Cpon whose print I used to feel So gaily to the eye of light,

The breath of home, the cordial air As if thy frame were formd to rise,

Of loved lips, still freshly there!) And live amid the glorious skies;

Must come, alas! through every fate Oh! it has made me proudly feel,

Of time and distance, cold and late, How like thy wing's impatient zeal

When the dear hand whose touches fill'd Is the pure soul, that scorns to rest

The leaf with sweetness may be chilla! Upon the world's ignoble breast,

But hence that gloomy thought! At last, But takes the plume that God has given,

Beloved kate! the waves are pass d : And rises into light and Heaven!

I tread on earth securely now,

And the green cedar's living bough But when I see that wing, so bright,

Breathes more refreshment to my eyes Grow languid with a moment's flight,

Than could a Claude's divipest dyes ! Attempt the paths of air in vain,

At length I touch the happy sphere And sink into the waves again:

To Liberty and Virtue dear, Alas! the flattering pride is o'er;

Where man looks up, and, proud to claim Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar,

His rank within the social frame, But erring man must blush to think,

Sees a grand system round him roll, Like thee, again, the soul may sink!

Himself its centre, sun, and soul!

Far from the shocks of Europe ; far Oh virtue! when thy clime I seek,

From every wild, elliptic star Let not my spirits flight be weak :

That, shooting with a devious fire, Let me not, like this feeble thing,

Kindled by Heaven's avenging ire, With brige still dropping from its wing,

So oft hath into chaos hurld
Jast sparkle in the solar glow,

The systems of the ancient world!
And plunge again to depths below;
But, when I leave the grosser throng

The warrior here, in arms no more,
With whom my soul hash dwelt so long,

Thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, Let me, in that aspiring day,

And glorying in the rights they won Cast every lingering stain away,

For hearth and altar, sire and son, And, panting for thy purer air,

Smiles on the dusky webs that hide
Fly up at once and fix me there !

His sleeping sword's remember'd pride!
While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toił,

Walks o'er the free unlorded soil,

Effacing with her splendid share

The drops that War had sprinkled there!

Thrice happy land! where he who flies FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 1803.

From the dark ills of other skies, Is days, my Kate, when life was new,

From scorn, or want's unnerving woes, When, Julld with innocence and


May shelter him in proud repose ! "It is ebe opision of St Austio, upon Genesis, and I believe of

Ilope sings along the yellow sand arly all the Fathers, that birds, like 6sh, were originally produced

His welcome to a patriot land; ym she waters: in desence of which idea they have collected every The mighty wood, with pomp, receives Helal circumstance which can tend to prove a badred similitude The stranger in its world of leaves, tween them και συγγενείας τους πιτομενους προς τα νηκτα.

Which soon their barren glory yield ith this thougbi in our minds ben ve first see the Flying-Fish, could almost fancy that we are present at the mouseat of creation,

To the warm shed and cultured field; d witness the birth of the first bird from tbe wares.

And he, who came, of all bereft,
To whom malignant Fate had left
Nor home nor friends nor country dear,
Finds home and friends and country here!

Such is the picture, warmly such,
That long the spell of Fancy's touch
Hath painted to my sanguine eye
Of man's new world of liberty!
Oh! ask me not if Truth will seal
The reveries of Fancy's zeal,
If yet my charmed eyes behold
These features of an age of gold-
No--yet, alas! no gleaming trace!.
Never did youth, who loved a face
From portrait's rosy, flattering art,
Recoil with more regret of heart,
To find an owlet


Where painting pour'd the sapphire's ray,
Than I have felt, indignant felt,
To think the glorious dreams should melt,
Which oft, in boyhood's witching time,
Have wrapt me to this wondrous clime!

Oh! love the song, and let it oft
Live on your lip, in warble soft!
Say that it tells you, simply well,
All I have bid its murmurs tell,
Of memory's glow, of dreams that sled
The tinge of joy when joy is fled,
And all the heart's illusive hoard
Of love renewd and friends restored!
Now, sweet, adieu-this artless air,
And a few rhymes, in transcript fair,'
Are all the gifts 1 yet can boast
To send


from Columbia's coast; But when the sun, with warmer smile, Shall light me to my destined Isle, a You shall have many a cowslip-bell Where Ariel slept, and many a shell In which the gentle spirit drew From boney flowers the morning dew!



Conceal'd within the shady wood

A mother left her sleeping child, And flew to cull her rustic food,

The fruitage of the forest wild.

But storms upon her path-way rise,

The mother roams, astray and weeping, Far from the weak appealing cries

Of bin she left so sweetly sleeping.

But, courage yet, my wavering heart!
Blame not the temple's meanest part,"

have traced the fabric o'er :-
As yet, we have beheld no more
Than just the porch to Freedom's fane,
And, though a sable drop may stain
The vestibule, 'tis impious sin
To doubt there's holiocss within!
So here I pause--and now, my kate,
To you (whose simplest ringlet's fate
Can claim more interest in my soul
Than all the Powers from pole to pole)
One word at parting-in the tone
Most sweet to you, and most my own.
The simple notes I send you here, 3
Though rude and wild, would still be dear,
If you but knew the trance of thought
In which my mind their murmurs caught.
'T was one of those enchanting dreams,
That lull me oft, when Music seems

the soul in sound alony,
And turn its every sigh to song!
I thought of home, the according lays
Respired the breath of happier days;
Warmly in every rising note
I felt some dear reinembrance float,
Till, led by Music's fairy chain,
I wanderd back to home again!

She hopes, she fears-a light is seen,

And gentler blows the night-wind's breath; Yet no-t is gone-the storms are keen,

The baby may be chill'd to death!

Perhaps his little eyes are shaded

Dim by Death's eternal chillAnd yet, perhaps, they are not faded ;

Life and love may light them still.

Thus, when my soul with parting sigh,

Hang on thy hand's bewildering touch, And, timid, ask'd that speaking eye,

If parting paiad thee half so much :

I thought, and, oh! forgive the thought,

For who, by eyes like thine inspired, Could cer resist the flattering fault

Of fancying what his soul desired ?

Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind,

Though yet to Cara's mind unknown, I left one infant wish behind,

One feeling, which I callid my own!

+ Sucb romantic works as The American Farmer's Letters, and the Account of Kentucky, hy INLAT, would seduce us into a belief, tout innocent, peace, and freedom had desorted the rest of the world, for Martha's Vineyard and the banks of the Obis. Tlie Frroch travellers too, almost all from revolutionary motive#, base contributed their sure to the diffusion of this flattering misionception, A visit to the country is, borever, quite subient to content creu the most enthusiastir preposs$400.

* Norfolk, it must be owned, is an unfavourable specimen of America. The charakteristics of Virginia in general are not sutli as can drlecht either the peliman or the moralist, and at Norfolk they are exlubited in their least attractive form. At the tune wben we arrived, tbe yellow fever had not yet disappeared, and every odour that desailed us in the streets very strongly accounted for its sisitation,

! A wing attempi di musical composition accompanied this Epistle.

Oh blest! though but in fancy blest,

How did I ask of pity's care, To shield and strengthen in thy breast

The nursling I had cradled there.

"The poems which inmediately follow. ? Bermuda

And, many an hour beguiled by pleasure, And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,

And many an hour of sorrow numbering, Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure

Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
I left within thy bosom slumbering.

Jo the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,

To have you for ever invisibly nigh,
Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it,

Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
Haply, it yet a throb may give-

"Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care, Yet no-perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it!

I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air, Oh, Cara!--does the infaat live?

And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew,

To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.

Oh! come and be near me, for ever be mine,

We shall hold in the air a communion divine,

As sweet as, of old, was imagined to dwell
Wyen midnight came to close the year,

In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell.
We sigh'd to think it thus should take

And oft, at those lingering moments of night,
The hours it gave us-hours as dear

When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is light, As sympathy and love could make

You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, Their blessed moments! every sun

Such as angel to angel might whisper above! Saw us, my love, more closely one!

Ob spirit and then, could you borrow the tone

Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known, But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh

The voice of the one upon earth, who has twined Which came another year to shed,

With her essence for ever my heart and my mind! The smile we caught from eye to eye

Though lonely and far from the light of her smile, Told us those moments were not fled;

And exile and weary and hopeless the while, Oh no!--we felt, some future sun

Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear, Should see us still more closely one!

I will think at that moment my Cara is near,

That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak, Thus may we ever, side by side,

And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek, From happy years to happier glide ;

And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by, And still, my Cara, may the sigh

For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh! We give to hours that vanish o'er us,

Sweet spirit! if such be your magical power,
Be follow'd by the smiling eye

It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour;
That Hope shall shed on scenes before us!

And let Fortune's realities frown as they will,

Hope, Fancy, and Cara may smile for me still!
Taey try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,

That you are not a daughter of ether and light,

Sor have any concern with those fanciful forms
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms;

WHERE is now the smile that lighten'd
That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your breast Every hero's couch of rest?
As mortal as ever were tasted or press'd!

Where is now the hope that brighten'd
But I will not believe them-no, Science ! to you

Honour's eye and Piry's breast ? I have long bid a last and a careless adieu :

Have we lost the wreath we braided Still flying from Nature to study ber laws,

For our weary warrior men? And dulling delight by exploring its cause,

Is the faithless olive faded ?
You forget how superior, for mortals below,

Must the bay be pluck'd again?
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know.
Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete,

Passing hour of sunny weather,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;

Lovely, in your light awhile, How rays are confused, or how particles fly

Peace and Glory, wed together, Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh!

Wander'd through the blessed isle. Is there one, who but once would not rather have And the eyes of Peace would glisten, known it,

Dewy as a morning sun, Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it?

When the timid maid would listen
So, no—but for you, my invisible love,

To the deeds her chief had done.
I will swear you are one of those spirits that rove
By the bank where at twilight the poet reclines,

Is the hour of dalliance over?
When the star of the west on his solitude shines,

Must the maiden's trembling feet And the magical fingers of Fancy have hung

Waft her from her warlike lover Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue!

To the desert's still retreat? Oh! wbisper him then, 't is retirement alone

Fare you well! with sighs we banish Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone;

Nymph so fair and guest so bright; Like you, with a veil of seclusion between,

Yet the smile, with which you vanish, His song to the world let him utter unseen,

Leaves behind a soothing light!

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Soothing light! that long shall sparkle

O'er your warrior's sanguine way, Through the field where horrors darkle,

Shedding lope's consoling ray!
Long the smile his heart will cherish,

To its absent idol true,
While around him myriads perish,

Glory still will sigh for you!


• They tell of a young man who lost bis miud upon the death of a girl be loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As be led (r quently said, in his ravisgs that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, is $upe posed be bad wandered into ibat dreary wilderness, and had died hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses..-Anon.

La Poésie a ses monstres comme la Naturel-D'ALENDERT.

« They made her a grave, too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp,' Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

« And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,

And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footstep of Death is near!»


1801 To be the theme of


hour The heart devotes to Fancy's power, When her soft magic fills the mind With friends and joys we've left behind, And joys return and friends are near, And all are welcomed with a tear! In the mind's purest seat to dwell, To be remember d oft and well Ly one whose heart, though vain and wild, By passion led, by youth beguiled, Cin proudly still aspire to know The feeling soul's divinest glow! If thus to live in every part Of a lone weary wanderer's heart; If thus to be its sole employ Can give thee ope faint gleam of joy, Believe it, Mary! oh! believe A tongue that never can deceive, When passion doth not first betray And tinge the thought upon its way! In pleasure's dream or sorrow's hour, In crowded hall or lonely bower, The business of my life shall be, For ever, to remember thee! And though that heart be dead to mine, Since love is life and wakes not thine, I'll take thy image, as the form Of something I should long to warm, Which, though it yield no answering thrill, Is not less dear, is lovely still! I'll take it, wheresoc'er stray, The bright, cold burthen of my way! To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, My heart shall be its glowing tomb, And love shall lend his sweetest care, With memory to embalm it there!

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds

Ilis path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,

And man never trod before!

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,

If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear, and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,

And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, «Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake, And the white canoc of my


He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright

Quick over its surface play'd Welcome,» be said, « my dear-one's light!. And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,

The name of the death-cold maid!


Till he bollowd a boat of the birchen bark,

Which carried him off from shore; Far he follow'd thic meteor spark, The wind was loigh and the clouds were dark,

And the boat return'd no more.

Take back the sigh, thy lips of art

In passion's moment breathed to me;
Yet, no--it must not, will not part,
"T is now the life-breath of my heart,
And has become 100 pure

for thee! Take back the kiss, that faithless sich

With all the warmth of truth imprest; Yet, no- the fatal kiss may lie, l'pon thy lip ils sweets would die,

Or bloom to make a rival blest!
Take back the vows that night and day,

My heart received, I thought, froin thine;
Yet, no-allow them still to stay,
They miglie some other lart betray,

As sweetly as they've ruio'd mine!

But oft, from the Indian lunter's camp,

This lover ud maid so true Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, To cross the lake by a fire-tly lamp,

And paddle their white canoe!

'The Great Dismal Siamp is froor twelve miles distant fras \ olk, and the Lithi in the middle of it (about seven miles los Called Drumsal Pond.

The morn was lovely, every wave was still,

When the first perfume of a cedar-hill

Sweetly awaked us, and with smiling charms

The fairy harbour woo'd us to its arms."
MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF D--LL. Gently we stole before the languid wind,

Through plantain shades that like an awning twined, FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.

And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, Lady, where'er you roam, whatever beam

Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales; Of bright ereation warms your mimic dream;

While far reflected, o'er the wave serene, Whether you trace the valley's golden meads,

Each wooded island sheds so soft a green, Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads ;' That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play, Enamour'd catch the mellow hues that sleep, Through liquid herbage seemd to steal its way! At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep;

Never did weary bark more sweetly glide, Or, musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline,

Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide! Mark the last shadow on the holy shrine, ?

Along the margin many a brilliant dome, Where, many a night, the soul of Tell complains

White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains ;

Brighten'd the wave; in every myrtle grove Oh! lay the pencil for a moment by,

Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love, Turn from the tablet that creative eye,

Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade; And let its splendour, like the morning ray

And, while the foliage interposing play'd, ['pon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay!

Wreathing the structure into various grace,

Fancy would love in many a form to trace Yet, Lady! no-for song so rude as mine,

The tlowery capital, the shaft, the porch, Chase not the wonders of your dream divine ;

And dream of temples, till her kindling torch Still, radiant eye! upon the tablet dwell;

Lighted me back to all the glorious days Still rosy finger! weave your pictured spell;

Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze And, while I sing the animated smiles

On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles,

Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. Oh! might the song awake some bright design,

Sweet airy being!) who, in brighter hours, Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line,

Lived on the perfume of these honey'd bowers, Proud were my soul to see its humble thought

In velvet buds, at evening loved to lie, On painting's mirror so divinely caught,

And win with music every rose's sigh! And wondering Genius, as he lean'd to trace

Though weak the magic of my humble strain The faint conception kindling into grace,

To charm your spirit from its orb again, Might love my numbers for the spark they threw,

Yet, oh! for her, beneath whose smile I sing, Aud bless the lay that lent a charm to you!

For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing

Were dimmd or ruftled by a wintry sky, Have you not oft, in nightly vision, stray'd

Could smooth its feather and relume its dye), To the pure isles of ever-blooming shade,

A moment wander from your starry sphere, Which bards of old, with kindly magic, placed And if the lime-tree grove that once was dear, For happy spirits in the Atlantic waste ?3

The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill, There, as eternal gales, with fragrance warm,

The sparkling grotto, can delight you still, Breathed from Elysium through each shadowy form

Oh! take their fairest tint, their softest light, Jo eloquence of eye, and dreams of song,

Weave all their beauty into dreams of night, They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours along!

And, while the lovely artist slumbering lies, Nor yet in song that mortal ear may suit,

Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes; For every spirit was itself a lute,

Borrow for sleep her own creative spells, Where Virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze,

And brightly show what song but faintly tells ! Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies!

Nothing can be more romantic than the little harbour of St Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland

George The number of beautiful islets, the singular clearaess of Floated our bark to this enchanted land,

the water, and the animated play of the graceful little boats, gliding These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown,

for ever betweca the islands, and seeming to sail from one cedarLike studs of emerald o'er a silver zone;

grove into another, form altogether the sweetest miniature of nature

that can be imagined. Not all the charm that ethnic fancy gave

* This is an allusion whicha, to the fes who are fanciful enough to To blessed arbours o'er the western wave,

Indulge in it, readers the scenery of Bermuda particularly interesting. Could wake a dream more soothing or sublime, In the sbort but beautiful twilight of their pring evenings, the Of bowers ethereal and the spirit's clime!

white collages mattered over the islands, and bus partially seen through the trees that surround them, assume often the appearance of

hule Grecian temples, aod fancy may embell sb the poor bsherman's Lady D., I supposed, was at this time still in Switzerland, where but with columns which the pencil of Claude might imitate. I bad the powers of ber pencil must have boea frequently awakened. one favourite object of this kind in my walls, which the hospitality * The chapel of William Tell, on the Lake of Lucerne,

of its owner robbed ne of, by asking me to visit hun. 3 M. GEBELIN saya, ia bis Munde Primitif, . Lorsque Strabon erat plain good man, and received me well and warmly, but I never could que les anciens théologiens et poetes placuient les Champs Elysées tura bis house into a Grecian temple again. dans les Isles de l'Océan Atlantique, il a entendit rien a leur doc- 1 Ariel. Among the many barms which Bermuda bas for a poe

M. Gesels's supposition, I have no doubt, is the more cor- tie eye, we cannot for an instant forget that it is the sene of Santrect ; but that of STRATO is, in the present instance, most to my par-speare's Tempest, and that bere be conjured up the e delicate Ariel, pose.

#bo alone is worth the whole bearea of ancient mythology.

He was a


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