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To the kindest, the dearest-oh! judge by the tear,
That I shed while I name him, how kind and how dear!»

'T was 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 flower
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?

my

Last night, when we came from the calabash-tree,
When 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 faucy 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 look'd on it, flow'd,
And warmer the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd!
Not the valleys Heræan (though water'd by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,'
Where the song of the shepherd, primeval 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!

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fess, are not very civilized; and the old philosopher, who imagined that, after this life, men would be changed into mules, and women into turtle-doves, would find the metamorphosis in some degree anticipated at Bermuda.

1 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the nymphs. See the heely description of these mountains in DIODORUS SICULES, lib. iv. Hpara gap ορη κατά την Σικελίαν εςιν, ὁ φασι κάλλει κ. τ. λ. A ship, ready to sail for England.

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Beneath a green and aged palm,

His foot at length for shelter turning,

Quoted somewhere in ST PIERRE's Etudes de la Nature.

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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 curl'd, 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.
Oh happy time! when laws of state,
When all that ruled the country's fate,
Its glory, quiet, or alarms,

Was plann'd between two snowy arms!

Sweet times! you could not always lastAnd yet, oh! yet, you are not past;

THE GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM OF THE BLESSED ISLANDS.

TO HER LOVER.

όχι τε καλος

Πυθαγόρης, όσσοι τε χορον στήριξαν έρωτος. Απολλων περι Πλωτίνου. Οracul. Metric, a JOAN. OPSOP. collecta.

Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray,
That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away?
I linger'd still, in all the murmuring rest,
The languor of a soul too richly blest!
Upon my breath thy sigh yet faintly hung;
Thy name yet died in whispers o'er my tongue;
I heard thy lyre, which thou hadst left behind,
In amorous converse with the breathing wind;
Quick to my heart I press'd the shell divine,
And, with a lip yet glowing warm from thine,
I kiss'd its every chord, while every kiss
Shed o'er the chord some dewy print of bliss.
Then soft to thee I touch'd the fervid lyre,
Which told such melodies, such notes of fire,
As none but chords that drank the burning dews
Of kisses dear as ours could e'er diffuse!
Oh love! how blissful is the bland repose
That soothing follows upon rapture's close,
Like a soft twilight, o'er the mind to shed
Mild melting traces of the transport fled!

While thus I lay, in this voluptuous calm,
A drowsy languor steep'd my eyes in balm,
Upon my lap the lyre in murmurs fell,
While, faintly wandering o'er its silver shell,
My fingers soon their own sweet requiem play'd,
And slept in music which themselves had made!
Then, then, my Theon, what a heavenly dream!
I saw two spirits on the lunar beam,
Two winged boys, descending from above,
And gliding to my bower with looks of love,
Like the young genii, who repose their wings
All day in Amatha's luxurious springs, 2

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And rise at midnight, from the tepid rill,

To cool their plumes upon some moon-light hill!
Soft o'er my brow, which kindled with their sighs,
Awhile they play'd; then gliding through my eyes
(Where the bright babies, for a moment, hung,
Like those thy lip hath kiss'd, thy lyre hath sung),
To that dim mansion of my breast they stole,
Where, wreathed in blisses, lay my captive soul.
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties that clung
So sweetly round her, and aloft she sprung!
Exulting guides, the little genii flew
Through paths of light, refresh'd with starry dew,
And fann'd by airs of that ambrosial breath,
On which the free soul banquets after death!

Thou know'st, my love, beyond our clouded skies,
As bards have dream'd, the spirits' kingdom lies.
Through that fair clime a sea of ether rolls,'
Gemm'd with bright islands, where the hallow'd souls,
Whom life bath wearied in its race of hours,
Repose for ever in unfading bowers!
That very orb, whose solitary light
So often guides thee to my arms at night,
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love,

Floating in splendour through those seas above!
Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way,
Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery day,
While all around, on lily beds of rest,
Reclined the spirits of the immortal Blest! 2
Oh! there I met those few congenial maids,
Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic shades;
There still Leontium, 3 on her sage's breast.
Found lore and love, was tutor'd and caress d;

the warm springs at Gadara, dicens astantibus (says the author of the Di Fatidic, p. 16) illos case loct Genios; which words however are not in Eunapius.

NYMUS.

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I find from CREEARTU. that Amatha, in the neighbourhood of Gadara, was also celebrated for its warm springs, and I have preferred CELLABIUS quotes it as a more poetical name than Gadara. -Est et alia villa in vicina Gadare nomine Amaths, ubi calidæ aque erumpunt.-Geograph. Antiq, lib ii, cap. 13. This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or waters above the fir сггога in which the early mament, was one of the many physical fathers bewildered themselves. LE P. BALTUS, in his Defense des saints Père: accusés de Platonisme, taking it for granted that the avcients were more correct in their notions (which by no means appears from what I have already quoted), adduces the obstinacy of the fathers in this whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to even truth from the hands of the philosophers. This is a strange way of defending the fathers, and attributes much more than they deserve to the philosophers. For an abstract of this work of Baltus (the opposer of Fontenelle. Van Dale, etc in the famous oracle controversy), see Bibliothèque des Auteurs Ecclésiast, du 18o, siecle, 1 part. tom, ii.

There were various opinions among the ancients with respect to their lunar establishment; some made it an elysium, and others a purGatory: while some supposed it to be a kind of entrepôt between heaven and earth, where souls which had left their bodies, and those that were on their way to join them, were deposited in the valleys of Hecate, and remained till further orders. Τοις περὶ σελήνην αερι λέγειν αυτάς κατοικείν, και απ' αυτης κατω χωρειν εις την Eclog. Physic. περιγείου γενεσιν. — Sron. lib. 1.

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The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his dear little Leontium (Aεovтapio), as appears by fragment of one woman of talent; she had the impudence (says CICEEO) to write against Theophrastus; and, at the same time, Cicano gives her a name which is neither polite nor translateable. Meretricula ctum Leontium contra Theophrastum scribere ausa est.-De Natur. Deor She left daughter, called Danac, who was just as 11 an Epicurean as her mother, something like WINLAND's Danar in Agathon.

of his Letters in Laertius. This Leontium was a

It would sound much better. I think of the X were Lontia It occurs the hast tum in actius but M Mong will not bear of this reading

And there the twine of Pythias' gentle arms
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms!
The Attic Master, in Aspasia's eyes,
Forgot the toil of less endearing ties;
While fair Theano, 3 innocently fair,
Play'd with the ringlets of her Samian's hair, 4
Who, fix'd by love, at length was all her own,
And pass'd his spirit through her lips alone!

Oh Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought
Of mystic Numbers hath divinely wrought,
The One that's form'd of Two who dearly love,
Is the best number Heaven can boast above!
But think, my Theon, how this soul was thrill'd,
When near a fount, which o'er the vale distill'd,
My fancy's eye beheld a form recline,
Of lunar race, but so resembling thine,
That, oh!t was but fidelity in me.

To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee!
No aid of words the unbodied soul requires
To waft a wish, or embassy desires;

But, by a throb to spirits only given,

By a mute impulse, only felt in heaven,

Swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies,
From soul to soul the glanced idea flies!

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Pythias was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to whom, fur! her death, he paid divine honours, solemnizing her memory to the same sacrifices which the Athenians offered to the goddess Cors For this impious gallantry the philosopher was, of course, censure! it would be well however if some of our modern Stagyrites had a little of this superstition about the memory of their mistresses.

2 Socrates; who used to console himself in the society of Aspasia for those less endearing ties which he found at home with Xant pre For an account of this extraordinary creature, Aspasia, and her arbed of crudite luxury at Athens, see L'Histoire de l'Académie, e tom. xxxi, p. 69. SEGUR rather fails on the subject of Aspasia L Femmes. tom, i. p. 123.

The author of the foyage du Monde de Descartes. has aw placed these philosophers in the moon, and has allotted Seigneußes to them, as well as to the astronomers; (2 part. p. 143.) but he eaght not to have forgotten their wives and mistresses; cure non ipsa in morte relinquunt.

3 There are some sensible letters extant under the name of this fam Pythagorean. They are addressed to her female friends up ath | One, in par education of children, the treatment of servants, etc. ticular, to Nicostrata, whose husband had given her reasons for jor lousy, contains such truly considerate and rational advice, that it on, b to be translated for the edification of all married ladies. Opuscul. Myth. Phys. p. 741

See Gilt.

4 Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and Decrow Te his Histoire des Perruques) seems to take for granted it

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as he has not mentioned him among those ancients who s obliged to have recourse to the Coma apposititia.-L'Hirt, der Pes

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The Elean god, whose faithful waters flow,
With love their only light, through eaves below,
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids,
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids
Have deck'd their billow, as an offering meet
To pour at Arethusa's crystal feet!

Think, when he mingles with his fountain-bride,
What perfect rapture thrills the blended tide!
Each melts in each, till one pervading kiss
Confound their currents in a sea of bliss!
Twas thus-

But, Theon, 'tis a weary theme,
And thou delight'st not in my lingering dream
Oh! that our lips were, at this moment, near,
And I would kiss thee into patience, dear!
And make thee smile at all the magic tales
Of star-light bowers and planetary vales,
Which my food soul, inspired by thee and love,
In slumber's loom hath exquisitely wove,
But no; no more-soon as to-morrow's ray
Oer soft lissus shall dissolve away,
I'll tly, my Theon, to thy burning breast,
And there in murmurs tell thee all the rest:
Then, if too weak, too cold the vision seems,

Thy lip shall teach me something more than dreams'

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But press'd the sweetest, richest fruit, To bathe her ripe lip as she play'd'

But, oh! the fairest of the group

Was one who in the sunshine lay, And oped the cincture's golden loop That hid her bosom's panting play!

And still her gentle hand she stole

Along the snows, so smoothly orb'd, And look'd the while as if her soul

Were in that heavenly touch absorb'd!

Another nymph, who linger'd nigh,

And held a prism of various light, Now put the rainbow wonder by.

To look upon this lovelier sight.

And still as one's enamour d touch
Adown the lapsing ivory fell,
The other's eye, entranced as much,
Hung giddy oer its radiant swell!

Too wildly charm'd, I would have fled—
But she who in the sunshine lay
Replaced her golden loop, and said,

We pray thee for a moment stay.

« If true my counting pulses beat,
It must be now almost the hour
When Love, with visitation sweet,
Descends upon our bloomy bower.

«And with him from the sky he brings

Our sister-nymph who dwells aboveOh! never may she haunt these springs With any other god but Love!

« When he illumes her magic urn,
And sheds his own enchantments in it,
Though but a minute's space it burn,
Tis heaven to breathe it but a minute!

Not all the purest power we boast,

Nor silken touch, nor vernal dye, Nor music, when it thrills the most,

Nor balmy cup, nor perfume's sigh,

« Such transport to the soul can give, Though felt till time itself shall wither, As in that one dear moment live;

When Love conducts our sister hither '»

She ceased-the air respired of bliss-
A languor slept in every eye;
And now the scent of Cupid's kiss

Declared the melting power was nigh!

I saw them come-the nymph and boy,
In twisted wreaths of rapture bound;
I saw her light the urn of joy,
While all her sisters languish'd round!

A sigh from every bosom broke-
I felt the flames around me glide,
Till with the glow I trembling woke,
And found myself by Faunys side'

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When calms delay, or breezes blow
Right from the point we wish to steer;
When by the wind close-haul'd we go,
And strive in vain the port to near;
I think 'tis thus the Fates defer

My bliss with one that's far away,
And while remembrance springs to her,
I watch the sails, and sighing say,
Thus, my boy! thus.

But see the wind draws kindly aft,
All hands are up the yards to square,
And now the floating stu'n-sails waft

Our stately ship though waves and air.
Oh! then I think that yet for me

Some breeze of Fortune thus may spring, Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee! And in that hope I smiling sing,

Steady, boy! so.

TO CLOE.

IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.

I COULD resign that eye of blue,
Howe'er it burn, howe'er it thrill me;
And, though your lip be rich with dew,
To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me.

That snowy neck I uc'er should miss, However warm I've twined about it! And though your bosom beat with bliss, I think my soul could live without it.

In short, I've learn'd so well to fast,
That, sooth my love, I know not whether
I might not bring myself at last
To-do without you altogether!

TO THE FIRE-FLY."

THIS morning, when the earth and sky

Were burning with the blush of spring,

11 left Bermuda in the Boston, about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and I cander, aboard the latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise proceeded to New York.

2 The lovely and varving illumination, with which these fire-flics hight up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment • Pais ces mouches se développant de l'obscurite de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voyons sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettaient tout en feu, nous tendant 1 vue de leurs beaux fruits dore. qui ouit avait ravic, etc etc.-Sex Histone des Antilles, art. 7. chap 4. liv.

I saw thee not, thou humble fly!
Nor thought upon thy gleaming wing.

But now the skies have lost their hue,
And sunny lights no longer play,
I see thee, and I bless thee too
For sparkling o'er the dreary way.

Oh! let me hope that thus for me,

When life and love shall lose their bloom, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To light, if not to warm the gloom!

THE VASE.

THERE was a vase of odour lay

For many an hour on Beauty's shrine, So sweet that Love went every day To banquet on its breath divine.

And not an eye had ever seen

The fragrant charm the vase conceal'd; Oh Love! how happy 't would have been, If thou hadst ne'er that charm reveal'd!

But Love, like every other boy,

Would know the spell that lurks within; He wish'd to break the crystal toy, But Beauty murmured «t was a sin!»

He swore, with many a tender plea,
That neither Heaven nor earth forbad it:
She told him, Virtue kept the key,
And look'd as if she wish'd he had it!

He stole the key when Virtue slept

(Even she can sleep, if Love but ask it), And Beauty sigh'd, and Beauty wept, While silly Love unlock'd the casket.

Oh dulcet air that vanish'd then!
Can Beauty's sigh recal thee ever!
Can Love himself inhale again

A breath so precious?-never, never!

Go, maiden, weep-the tears of woe
By Beauty to repentance given,
Though bitterly on earth they flow,
Shall turn to fragrant balm in Heaven!

THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN.

I BRING thee, love, a golden chain,
I bring thee too a flowery wreath;
The gold shall never wear a stain,

The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe!
Come, tell me which the tie shall be
To bind thy gentle heart to me.

The Chain is of a splendid thread,

Stolen from Minerva's yellow hair, Just when the setting sun had shed The sober beam of evening there. The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove, With brilliant tears of bliss among it,

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