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’T was light of that mysterious kind, Through which the soul perchance may

roam, When it has left this world behind,

And gone to seek its heavenly home. And, Nea, thou wert by my side, Through all this heaven-ward path my

guide.

Nor, through her curtain dim and deep,

Hath ever lovelier vision shone.
I thought that, all enrapt, I strayed
Through that serene, luxurious shade,
Where Epicurus taught the Loves

To polish virtue's native brightness,
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves
Have played with, wear a smoother

whiteness.2 'T was one of those delicious nights

So common in the climes of Greece, When day withdraws but half its lights,

And all is moonshine, balm, and peace. And thou wert there, my own beloved, And by thy side I fondly roved Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where Beauty learned what Wisdom

taught, And sages sighed and lovers thought; Where schoolmen conned no maxims

stern, But all was formed to soothe or move, To make the dullest love to learn,

To make the coldest learn to love.

But, lo, as wandering thus we ranged That upward path, the vision changed; And now, methought, we stole along

Through halls of more voluptuous glory Than ever lived in Teian song,

Or wantoned in Milesian story.4

And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seemed softened o'er with breath of

sighs;
Whose every ringlet, as it wreathed,
A mute appeal to passion breathed.
Some flew, with amber cups, around,

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete;5 And, as they past with youthful bound,

The onyx shone beneath their feet.6 While others, waving arms of snow

Entwined by snakes of burnished gold,? And showing charms, as loath to show,

Through many a thin, Tarentian fold, 8 Glided among the festal throng Bearing rich urns of flowers along.

And now the fairy pathway seemed

To lead us through enchanted ground, Where all that bard has ever dreamed

Of love or luxury bloomed around. Oh! 't was a bright, bewildering scene Along the alley's deepening green Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, And scented and illumed the bowers, Seemed, as to him, who darkling roves Amid the lone Hercynian groves, Appear those countless birds of light, That sparkle in the leaves at night, And from their wings diffuse a ray Along the traveller's weary way.8

1 Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias mentions, in his first book, were those of Epicurus ; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities of Athens, “Near this convent (the convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vineyard Garden : these were probably the gardens which Pausanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2.

2 This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhile to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Cardanus, “de Rerum Varietat.' lib. vii. cap. 34.

3 In Hercynio Germaniæ saltu inusitata genera alitum accepimus, quarum pluma, ignium modo, colluceant noctibus. Plin. lib. x. caf. 47.

4 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 ακόλαστα βιβλία.

5 “Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls oivos ávdoonias, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers."

Barry on Wines, chap. vii.

6 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.

7 Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among the women of antiquity. oi eitiκάρπιοι όφεις και αι χρυσαι πέδαι Θαιδός και 'Αρισταγόρας και Λαιδός φάρμακα. - Philostrat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the Bpaxiolou Spákovtes. See his Amores, where he describes the dressing-room of a Grecian lady, and find the “silver vase,

the

rouge, the toothpowder, and all the “mystic order” of a modern toilet.

8 Ταραντινίδιον, διαφανές ένδυμα, ώνομασμένον από της Ταραντίνων χρήσεως και τρυφής. Pollux.

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IF I were yonder wave, my dear,

And thou the isle it clasps around, I would not let a foot come near

My land of bliss, my fairy ground.

If I were yonder conch of gold,

And thou the pearl within it placed, I would not let an eye behold

The sacred gem my arms embraced.

If I were yonder orange-tree,

And thou the blossom blooming there, I would not yield a breath of thee

To scent the most imploring air.

Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee

roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I

may yet Their allurements forgive and their splen

dor forget. Farewell to Bermuda,3 and long may the

bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys per

fume; May spring to eternity hallow the shade, Where Ariel has warbled and Waller 4

has strayed. 1 Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and "now called the Muscatell (a muscarum telis),says Pancirollus, book i. sect. 1. chap. 17.

? I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the West Indies.

3 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words “still-vext 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 Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins which he encountered. - Travels of the Jesuits, vol. i. afraid, however, it would také the Patriarch rather too much out of his way.

4 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda; but the “Account of the European Settlements in America " affirms it confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this work, however, less for its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke.

Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink,

Give not the wave that odorous sigh, Nor let its burning mirror drink

The soft reflection of thine eye.

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek,

So pictured in the waters seem, That I could gladly plunge to seek

Thy image in the glassy stream.

I am

Blest fate! at once my chilly grave

And nuptial bed that stream might be; I'll wed thee in its mimic wave,

And die upon the shade of thee.

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending

Oer the waters blue and bright, Like Nea's silky lashes, lending

Shadow to her eyes of light.

Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn,

Should not melt in the daybeam like Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes; him. In every star thy glances burn;

Oh! lovely the print of those delicate Thy blush on every floweret lies.

feet

O’er his luminous path will appear Nor find I in creation aught

Fly, my beloved ! this island is sweet, Of bright or beautiful or rare,

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. Sweet to the sense or pure to thought, But thou art found reflected there.

ενταύθα δε καθώρμισται ημίν. και ότι μεν THE SNOW SPIRIT.

όνομα τη νήσω, ουκ οίδα" χρυσή δ' αν πρός γς

emoù óvomášouto. - PHILOSTRAT. Icon. 17. lib. ii. No, ne'er did the wave in its element

I STOLE along the flowery bank, steep An island of lovelier charms;

While many a bending seagrape 1 drank

The sprinkle of the feathery oar It blooms in the giant embrace of the

That winged me round this fairy shore. deep, Like Hebe in Hercules' arms.

’T was noon; and every orange bud The blush of your bowers is light to the

Hung languid o'er the crystal food, eye,

Faint as the lids of maiden's eyes And their melody balm to the ear;

When love-thoughts in her bosom rise. But the fiery planet of day is too nigh,

Oh, for a naiad's sparry bower, And the Snow Spirit never comes here.

To shade me in that glowing hour! The down from his wing is as white as the pearl

A little dove, of milky hue, That shines through thy lips when they And, light along the water's brim,

Before me from a plantain flew, part,

I steered my gentle bark by him; And it falls on the green earth as melt

For fancy told me, Love had sent ing, my girl,

This gentle bird with kind intent As a murmur of thine on the heart.

To lead my steps, where I should meet Oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows

I knew not what, but something sweet. the death, As he cradles the birth of the year;

And – bless the little pilot dove ! Bright are your bowers and balmy their

He had indeed been sent by Love, breath,

To guide me to a scene so dear But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.

As fate allows but seldom here;

One of those rare and brilliant hours, How sweet to behold him when borne

That, like the aloe's a lingering flowers, on the gale, And brightening the bosom of morn,

May blossom to the eye of man

But once in all his weary span. He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil

O’er the brow of each virginal thorn. Yet think not the veil he so chillingly

Just where the margin's opening shade

A vista from the waters made, casts Is the veil of a vestal severe;

My bird reposed his silver plume

Upon a rich banana's bloom. No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it

Oh vision bright! oh spirit fair ! lasts,

What spell, what magic raised her there? Should the Snow Spirit ever come here.

1 The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of But fly to his region – lay open thy zone, the West Indies. And he ’ll weep all his brilliancy tim,

2 The Agave. This, I am aware, is an erroneTo think that a bosom, as white as his

ous notion, but it is quite true enough for poetry.

Plato, I think, allows a poet to be "three reown,

moves from truth;” τρίτατος από της αληθείας.

’T was Nea! slumbering calm and mild, Look, as she leans, and say in sooth And bloomy as the dimpled child,

Is not that hand most fondly placed ? Whose spirit in elysium keeps Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps.

Upon his curled head behind

It seems in careless play to lie, The broad banana's green embrace Yet presses gently, half inclined Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace;

To bring the truant's lip more nigh. One little beam alone could win The leaves to let it wander in,

Oh happy maid ! Too happy boy!

The one so fond and little loath,
And, stealing over all her charms,
From lip to cheek, from neck to arms,

The other yielding slow to joy
New lustre to each beauty lent,

Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. Itself all trembling as it went !

Imagine, love, that I am he,

And just as warm as he is chilling; Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe Imagine, too, that thou art she, Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge But quite as coy as she is willing: Mixt with its shade, like evening's light Just touching on the verge of night. So may we try the graceful way Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, In which their gentle arms are twined, Seemed glowing through the ivory lid, And thus, like her, my hand I lay And, as I thought, a lustre threw

Upon thy wreathed locks behind : Upon her lip's reflecting dew,

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, Such as a night-lamp, left to shine

As slow to mine thy head I move; Alone on some secluded shrine,

And thus our lips together meet, May shed upon the votive wreath,

And thus, and thus, - I kiss thee, Which pious hands have hung beneath.

love. Was ever vision half so sweet! Think, think how quick my heart-pulse

- λιβανοτή είκασεν, ότι απολλύμενον

ευφραίνει. beat,

Aristot, Rhetor. lib. iii. cap. 4. As o'er the rustling bank I stole;

THERE 's not a look, a word of thine, Oh! ye, that know the lover's soul,

My soul hath e'er forgot; It is for you alone to guess,

Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, That moment's trembling happiness.

Nor given thy locks one graceful twine

Which I remember not.
A STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE.
BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem

There never yet a murmur fell
Within this simple ring of gold;

From that beguiling tongue, 'T is hallow'd by the touch of them

Which did not, with a lingering spell, Who lived in classic hours of old. Upon my charmed senses dwell,

Like songs from Eden sung.
Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps,
Upon her hand this gem displayed,

Ah! that I could, at once, forget
Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse

All, all that haunts me so — Should see it grace a lovelier maid.

And yet, thou witching girl,

To die were sweeter than to let Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! The loved remembrance go.

The more we gaze, it charms the more; Come

1 Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and closer bring that cheek to mine,

Psyche at Florence, in which the position of And trace with me its beauties o'er. Psyche's hand is finely and delicately expressive

of affection. See the Museum Florentinum, Thou seest, it is a simple youth

tom. ii. tab. 43, 44. There are few subjects on

which poetry could be more interestingly emBy some enamoured nymph em

ployed than in illustrating some of these ancient braced

statues and gems.

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Set the magical springs of my fancy in

play, And oh,

- such a vision as haunted me then I would slumber for ages to witness again. The many I like, and the few I adore, The friends who were dear and beloved

before,

1 Pinkerton has said that “a good history and description of the Bermudas might afford a pleasing addition to the geographical library; but there certainly are not materials for such a work. The island, since the time of its discovery, has experienced so very few vicissitudes, the people have been so indolent, and their trade so limited, that there is but little which the historian could amplify into importance; and, with respect to the natural productions of the country, the few which the inhabitants can be induced to cultivate are so common in the West Indies, that they have been described by every naturalist who has written any account of those islands.

It is often asserted by the trans-Atlantic politicians that this little colony deserves more attention from the mother-country than it receives, and it certainly possesses advantages of situation, to which we should not be long insensible, if it were once in the hands of an enemy. I was told by a celebrated friend of Washington, at New York, that they had formed a plan for its capture towards the conclusion of the American War;

with the intention (as he expressed himself) of making it a nest of hornets for the annoyance of British trade in that part of the world.” And there is no doubt it lies so conveniently in the track to the West Indies, that an enemy might with ease convert it into a very harassing impediment.

The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at Bermuda, where American savages might be converted and educated, though concurred in by the government of the day, was a wild and useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was governer of the island some years since, proposed,

if I mistake not, the establishment of a marine academy for the instruction of those children of West Indians, who might be intended for any nautical employment. This was a more rational idea, and for something of this nature the island is admirably calculated. But the plan should be much more extensive, and embrace a general system of education ; which would relieve the colonists from the alternative to which they are reduced at present, of either sending their sons to England for instruction, or intrusting them to colleges in the states of America, where ideas, by no means favorable to Great Britain, are very sedulously inculcated.

The women of Bermuda, though not generally handsome, have an affectionate languor in their look and manner, which is always interesting. What the French imply by their epithet aimante seems very much the character of the young Bermudian girls -- that predisposition to loving, which, without being awakened by any particular object, diffuses itself through the general manner in a tone of tenderness that never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, I confess, 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.

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