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Sweeten the breeze, and mingling swim
On every bowl's voluptuous brim !

Give me the wreath that withers there,
It was but last delicious night
It hung upon her wavy hair,

And caught her eyes' reflected light! Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow;

It breaths of Heliodora now!

The loving rose-bud drops a tear,
To see the nymph no longer here,
No longer, where she used to lie,
Close to my heart's devoted sigh!

Oh! most to him,

Whose lip hath drained life's cup of
Nor left one honey-drop to shed
Round misery's brim.

Yes-he can smile serene at death:
Kind Heaven! do thou but chase the

Of friends who love him;
Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping,
Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath
No more shall move him.



THAT Sky of clouds is not the sky
To light a lover to the pillow

Of her he loves

The swell of yonder foaming billow,
Resembles not the happy sigh

That rapture moves.

Yet do I feel more tranquil now
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean,
In this dark hour,

Than when, in transport's young emo-

I've stolen, beneath the evening star,
To Julia's bower.

Oh! there's a holy calm profound
In awe like this, that ne'er was given
To rapture's thrill;
'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven,
And the soul, listening to the sound,
Lies mute and still!

'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh.
Of slumbering with the dead to-morrow
In the cold deep,
Where pleasure's throb or tears of sor-





Euripid. Medea, v. 967. NAY, tempt me not to love again : There was a time when love was sweet;

Dear Nea! had I known thee then,

Our souls had not been slow to meet ! But, oh! this weary heart hath run

So many a time the rounds of pain, Not even for thee, thou lovely one!

Would I endure such pangs again.

If there be climes where never yet
The print of Beauty's foot was set,
Where man may pass his loveless

Unfevered by her false delights-
Thither my wounded soul would fly,
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye
Should bring no more their bliss, their

Or fetter me to earth again!
Dear absent girl! whose eyes of light,
Though little prized when all my


Now float before me, soft and bright

No more shall wake the heart or eye,
But all must sleep!

Well!-there are some, thou stormy

To whom thy sleep would be a trea


As when they first enamouring shone'
How many hours of idle waste,
Within those witching arms embraced,
Unmindful of the fleeting day,
Have I dissolved life's dream away!
O bloom of time profusely shed!
O moments! simply, vainly fled,

Yet sweetly too-- for love perfumed | Remember, o'er its circling flood The flame which tbus my life con. In what a dangerous dream we stood sumed ;

The silent sea before us,
And brilliant was the chain of flowers Around us, all the gloom of grove,
In which he led my victim hours ! That e'er was spread for guilt or love,

No eye but Nature's o'er us !
Say, Nea dear! couldst thou, like her,
When warm to feel and quick to err,

I saw you blush, you felt me tremble,

In vain would formal art dissemble Of loving fond, of roving fonder, My thoughtless soul might wish to

All that we wished and thought; wander

'Twas more than tongue could dare Couldst thon, like her, the wish re

reveal, claim,

'Twas more than virtue ought to feel, Eudearing still, reproachivg never,

But all that passion ought ! Till all my heart should burn with I stooped to cull, with faltering hand, shame,

A shell that, on the golden sand, And be thy own more fixed than

Before us faintly gleamed ; ever ?

I raised it to your lips of dew, No, no-on earth there's only one

You kissed the shell, I kissed it toom Could bind such faithless folly fast:

Good Heaven ! how sweet it seemed ! And sure on earth 'tis I alone Could make such virtue false at last! Oh! trust me, 'twas a place, an hour,

The worst that e'er temptation's power Nea! the heart which she forsook, Could tangle me or you in ! For thee were but a worthless Sweet Nea, let us roam no more shrine

Along that wild and lonely shore, Go, lovely girl, that angel look

Such walks will be our ruin ! Must thrill a soul more pure than

mine. Oh ! thou shalt be all else to me, You read it in my languid eyes, That heart can feel or tongue can And there alone should love be read; feign ;

You hear me say it all in sighs, I'll praise, admire, and worship thee,

And thus alone should love be said. But must not, dare not, love again.

Then dread no more ; I will not speak;

Although my heart to anguish thrill,
I'll spare the burning of your cheek,

And look it all in silence still !
Propert, lib. iv. eleg. 8.
I PRAY you, let us roam no more

Heard you the wish I dared to name Along that wild and lonely shore,

To murmur on that luckless night, Where late we thoughtless strayed ;

When passion broke the bonds of 'Twas not for us, whom Heaven in

shame, teuds

And love grew madness in your To be no more than simple friends,

sight? Such lonely walks were maile. Divinely through the graceful dance,

You seemed to float in silent song, That little bay where, winding in From Ocean's rude and angry din

Bending to earth that beamy glance,

As if to light your steps along ! (As lovers steal to bliss), The billows kiss the shore, and then Oh ! how could others dare to touch Flow calmly to the deep again,

That hallowed form with hand so As though they did not kiss!


Tale iter omne cave.

left me.

ness !2


When but to look was bliss too much, And saw the vestal planet weep

Too rare for all but Heaven and me! Her tears of light on Ariel's flood. With smiling eyes, that little thought My heart was full of Fancy's dream, How fatal were the beams they Eutangling in its net of smiles

And as I watch the playful stream, threw, My trembling hands you lightly

So fair a group of elfin isles, caught,

I felt as if the scenery there And round me, like a spirit, flew.

Were lighted by a Grecian sky

As if I breathed the blissful air Heedless of all, I wildly turned, That yet was warm with Sapphu's My soul forgot-nor, oh! condemn,

sigh! That when such eyes before me burned, My soul forgot all eyes but them!

And now the downy hand of rest I dared to speak in sols of bliss, Her signet on my eyes imprest,

Rapture of every thought bereft me, And still the bright and balmy spell, I would have clasped you-oh, even Like star-dew, o'er my fancy fell! this!

I thought that, all enrapt, I strayed But, with a bound, you blushing Through that serene luxurious shade,

Where Epicurus taught the Loves Forget, forget that night's offence;

To polish Virtue's native brightness,

Just as the beak of playful doves Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ; 'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and

Can give to pearls a smoother white. 'Twas all the best and worst of man !

'Twas one of those delicious nights

So common in the climes of Greece,
That moment did the mingled eyes When day withdraws but balf its
Of heaven and earth my madness lights,

And all is moonshine, balm, and
I should have seen, thrɔugh earth and

And thou wert there, my own beloved !
But you alone, but only you ! And dearly by thy side I roved
Did not a frown from you reprove,

Through many à temple's reverend
Myriads of eyes to me were none; gloom,
I should have-oh, my only love! And many a bower's seductive bloom,
My life! what should I not have Where beauty blushed and wisdom
done ?

Where lovers sighed and sages thought,

Where hearts might feel or heads dis-
I just had turned the classic


And all was formed to soothe or And traced that happy period over,

move, When love could warm the proudest To make the dullest love to learn, sage,

To make the coldest learn to love! and wisdom grace the tenderest lover!

And now the fairy pathway seemed Before I laid me down to sleep,

To leau

us through enchanted Upon the bank awhile I stood,


peace !


Gassendi thinks that the gardens which the Vineyard Garden: these were probably the Pausanias mentions in his first bork were those gardens which Pausanias visited.'-Chap. 1. vol.l. of Epicurus; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities * This method of polishing pearls, by leaving of Athens : Near this

convent (the consent of them awhile to be played with by doves, is men Hagios Assomatos) is the place called at present tioned by the fanciful Cardanus, de Rerun Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepus, or Parietul. lib. vu. cap. 34.

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Where all that bard has ever dreamed

Of love or luxury bloomed around!
Oh! 'twas a bright bewildering scene-
Along the alley's deepening green,
Soft lamps, that hung like burning

And scented and illumed the bowers,
Seemed, as to him, who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves,
Appear the countless birds of light
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the traveller's weary way!
"Twas light of that mysterious kind,
Through which the soul is doomed

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The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Plutarch (in Crasso), who calls them ακολαστα βιβλία.

'Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls otros arboσuias, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers.'-Barry on Wines, chap. vii.

It appears that, in very splendid mansions, the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial: Calcatusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx.'-Epig. 50, lib. xii.

While others, waving arms of snow Entwined by snakes of burnished gold,

And showing limbs, as loth to sh

Through many a thin Tarentia foll. Glided along the festal ring With vases, all respiring spring, Where roses lay, in languor breathing, And the young bee grape, round them wreathing,

Hung on their blushes warm and meek, Like curls upon a rosy cheek!

Oh, Nea! why did morning break

The spell that so divinely bound me? Why did I wake? how could I wake, With thee my own and Heaven around me!

WELL-peace to thy heart, though another's it be,

And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me!

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon


Where nightly the ghost of the Caribbee


And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps I may yet

Its seduction forgive and its splendour forget!

Farewell to Bermuda," and long may

the bloom

Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;

See his Amores, where he describes the dressingroom of a Grecian lady, and we find the silver vase,' the rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the mystic order of a modern toilet.

The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Kermooda. See the commentators on the words 'still-vexed Bermoothes,' in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen, that possibly the discoverer of this island of hogs and devils' might have been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, who about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century)

was sent Patriarch of the Latin Church to ✦ Bracelets of this shape were a favourite orna- Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories ment among the women of antiquity. Oi emiкapmio of the Amazons and the Griffins which he enορεις και αί χρυσαι πεδαι Θαιδος και Αρισταγόρας | countered.-Travels of the Jesuits, vol. i. I am Philostrat. epis. xl. afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch Lucian, too, tells of the Spaxiolσi dpakovтes. rather too much out of his way.

και Λαιδος φαρμακα.

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