ΤΟ THE FLYING FISH.1 WHEN I have seen thy snow-white wing As if thy frame were form'd to rise, But, when I see that wing, so bright, Oh Virtue! when thy clime I seek, Let not my spirit's flight be weak: Let me not, like this feeble thing, With brine still dropping from its wing, Just sparkle in the solar glow And plunge again to depths below; But, when I leave the grosser throng With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, Let me, in that aspiring day, Cast every lingering stain away, And, panting for thy purer air, Fly up at once and fix me there. ΤΟ MISS MOORE. FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 1803. IN days, my Kate, when life was new, It is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, and I believe of nearly all the Fathers, that birds, like fish, were originally produced from the waters; in defence of which idea they have collected every fanciful circumstance which can tend to prove a kindred similitude between them; vyysva A mother saw our eyelids close, I linger'd from that home away, Yet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea Rolls wide between that home and me; The moon may thrice be born and die, Ere ev'n that seal can reach mine eye, Which used so oft, so quick to come, Still breathing all the breath of home,As if, still fresh, the cordial air From lips belov'd were lingering there. But now, alas,-far different fate! It comes o'er ocean, slow and late, When the dear hand that fill'd its fold With words of sweetness may lie cold. But hence that gloomy thought! at last, Beloved Kate, the waves are past: I tread on earth securely now, Where man looks up, and, proud to claim The warrior here, in arms no more, Thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, And glorying in the freedom won For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, Smiles on the dusky webs that hide His sleeping sword's remember'd pride. While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, Walks o'er the free, unlorded soil, Effacing with her splendid share The drops that war had sprinkled there. τοις πετομένοις προς τα νηκτα. With this thought in our minds, when we first see the Flying-Fish, we could almost fancy, that we are present at the moment of creation, and witness the birth of the first bird from the waves. Thrice happy land! where he who flies The mighty wood, with pomp, receives ; Such is the picture, warmly such, That Fancy long, with florid touch, Had painted to my sanguine eye Of man's new world of liberty. Oh! ask me not, if Truth have yet Her seal on Fancy's promise set; If ev'n a glimpse my eyes behold Of that imagin'd age of gold; Alas, not yet one gleaming trace! 1 Never did youth, who lov'd a face As sketch'd by some fond pencil's skill, And made by fancy lovelier still, Shrink back with more of sad surprise, When the live model met his eyes, Than I have felt, in sorrow felt, To find a dream on which I've dwelt From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee At touch of stern reality! But, courage, yet, my wavering heart! 1 Such romantic works as "The American Farmer's Letters," and the account of Kentucky by Imlay, would seduce us into a belief, that innocence, peace, and freedom had deserted the rest of the world for Martha's Vineyard and the banks of the Ohio. The French travellers, too, almost all from revolutionary motives, have contributed their share to the diffusion of this flattering misconception. A visit to the country is, however, quite sufficient to correct even the most enthusiastic prepossession. 3 The simple strain I send you here, 3 Oh! love the song, and let it oft Live on your lip, in accents soft. Say that it tells you, simply well, All I have bid its wild notes tell,Of Memory's dream, of thoughts that yet Glow with the light of joy that's set, And all the fond heart keeps in store Of friends and scenes beheld no more. And now, adieu! this artless air, With a few rhymes, in transcript fair, Are all the gifts I yet can boast To send you from Columbia's coast; But when the sun, with warmer smile, Shall light me to my destin'd isle, + You shall have many a cowslip-bell, Where Ariel slept, and many a shell, In which that gentle spirit drew From honey flowers the morning dew. A BALLAD. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses."— Anon. "La Poésie a ses monstres comme la nature." - D'ALEMBERT. "THEY made her a grave, too cold and damp "For a soul so warm and true; 2 Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavourable specimen of America. The characteristics of Virginia in general are not such as can delight either the politician or the moralist, and at Norfolk they are exhibited in their least attractive form. At the time when we arrived the yellow fever had not yet disappeared, and every odour that assailed us in the streets very strongly accounted for its visitation. 3 A trifling attempt at musical composition accompanied this Epistle. 4 Bermuda. TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL. FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. LADY! where'er you roam, whatever land Yet, Lady, no- for song so rude as mine, Say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, stray'd To those pure isles of ever-blooming shade, Which bards of old, with kindly fancy, plac'd For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste? 4 There listening, while, from earth, each breeze that came Brought echoes of their own undying fame, In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song, They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours along:: Nor yet in song, that mortal ear might suit, For every spirit was itself a lute, Where Virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze, Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies. 4 M. Gebelin says, in his Monde Primitif, “Lorsque Strabon crût que les anciens théologiens et poëtes plaçoient les champs élysées 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 ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. Bright rose the morning, every wave was still, And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, Never did weary bark more gladly glide, Then thought I, too, of thee, most sweet of all The spirit race that come at poet's call, 1 Nothing can be more romantic than the little harbour of St. George's. 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, formed altogether as lovely a miniature of nature's beauties as can well be imagined. 2 This is an allusion 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 a vivid fancy may embellish the poor fisherman's hut with columns such as the pencil of a 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 Delicate Ariel! who, in brighter hours, TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ. OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.3 FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. Κείνη δ' ηνεμοεσσα και άτροπος, οια θ' άλιπληξη CALLIMACH. Hymn in Del. v. 11. Он, what a sea of storm we've pass'd!- well and warmly, but I could never turn his house into a Grecian temple again. 3 This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere; but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some of the kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to atone to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few instances of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved by the Americans. His house is the very temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger who, warm from the welcome of such a board, could sit down to write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a modern philosophist. See the Travels of the Duke de la Rouchefoucault Liancourt, vol. ii. 4 We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, When close they reef'd the timid sail, When, every plank complaining loud, We labour'd in the midnight gale, And ev'n our haughty main-mast bow'd, Even then, in that unlovely hour, The Muse still brought her soothing power, The casket where my memory lays, Which time has sav'd from ancient days. Take one of these, to Lais sung,— Sweet is your kiss, my Lais dear, And mute those arms around me twine, Our last -go, false to heaven and me! SUCH, while in air I floating hung, Such was the strain, Morgante mio! was built at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by my very much regretted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was killed aboard the Lilly in an action with a French privateer. Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in the service; so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well-manned merchantman was at any time a match for her. This epigram is by Paul the Silentiary, and may be found in the Analecta of Brunck, vol. iii. p. 72. As the reading there is somewhat different from what I have followed in this translation, I shall give it as I had it in my memory at the time, and as it is in Heinsius, who, I believe, first produced the epigram. See his Poemata. Ήδη μεν εστι φίλημα το Λαίδος ήδυ δε αυτών Και πολύ κιχλίζουσα σύβεις ευβόστρυχον αιγλην, Μερομένην δ' εφίλησα τα δ' ώ, δροσερης από πηγής, The muse and I together sung, How sweetly after all our ills, Serenely o'er its fragrant hills; And felt the pure, delicious flow Of airs, that round this Eden blow Freshly as ev'n the gales that come O'er our own healthy hills at home. Could you but view the scenery fair, That now beneath my window lies, You'd think, that nature lavish'd there Her purest wave, her softest skies, To make a heaven for love to sigh in, For bards to live and saints to die in. Close to my wooded bank below, In glassy calm the waters sleep, And to the sunbeam proudly show The coral rocks they love to steep.2 The fainting breeze of morning fails; The drowsy boat moves slowly past, And I can almost touch its sails As loose they flap around the mast. The noontide sun a splendour pours That lights up all these leafy shores ; While his own heav'n, its clouds and beams, So pictur'd in the waters lie, That each small bark, in passing, seems To float along a burning sky. Oh for the pinnace lent to thee, 3 Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, Didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea And touch at all its isles of light. Sweet Venus, what a clime he found Within thy orb's ambrosial round !+. Είπε δ' ανειρομένῳ, τινος ούνεκα δακρυα λείβεις ; 2 The water is so clear around the island, that the rocks are seen beneath to a very great depth; and, as we entered the harbour, they appeared to us so near the surface that it seemed impossible we should not strike on them. There is no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead; and the negro pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, takes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors. 3 In Kircher's "Ecstatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, the genius of the world, gives Theodidactus a boat of asbestos, with which he embarks into the regions of the sun. "Vides (says Cosmiel) hanc asbestinam naviculam commoditati tuæ præparatam."— Itinerar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5. This work of Kircher abounds with strange fancies. 4 When the Genius of the world and his fellow-traveller arrive at the planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness, full of odours and intelligences, where angels preside, who shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth; |