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From every earthly chain,
From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of pain,
Drank at the source of Nature's fontal number,1
By the great diadem that twines my hair,
In a soft Iris of harmonious light,
Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams!
TO GEORGE MORGAN ESQ., of NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.3
When close they reefed the timid sail, When, every p'ank complaining loud, We laboured in the midnight gale,
And even our haughty nain-mast bowed!
From Bermuda, January 1804. The muse, in that unlovely hour, ΚΕΙΝΗ Δ' ΗΝΕΜΟΕΣΣΑ ΚΑΙ ΑΤΡΟΠΟΣ, Benignly brought her soothing power, ΟἿΑ Θ' ΑΛΙΠΛΗΞ, ΑΙΘΥΤΗΣ ΚΑΙ ΜΑΛΛΟΝ | And, ’midst the war of waves and ΕΠΙΔΡΟΜΟΣ HEΠEP, ἹΠΠΟΙΣ, ΠΟΝΤΩ ΕΝΕΣΤΗΡΙΚΤΑΙ.
Callimach. Hymn. in Del. v. 11. OH, what a tempest whirled us hither!! Winds, whose savage breath could wither
All the light and languid flowers
Forsook me in this rude alarm.
The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pythagoreans, on which they solemnly swore, and which they called "ayav aevaov ovσews the fountain of perennial nature.' Lucian has ridiculed this religious arithmetic very finely in his Sale of Philosophers.
2 This diadem is intended to represent the analogy between the notes of music and the prismatic colours. We find in Plutarch a vague intimation of this kindred harmony in colours and sounds. Οψις τε και ακον, μετα φωνης τε και φωτος την άρμονιαν επιφαινουσι.– De Musica.
Cassiodorus, whose idea I may be supposed to have borrowed, says, in a letter upon music to Boetius: Ut diadema oculis, varia luce gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate soni, blanditur auditmi. This is indeed the only tolerable thought in the letter. Lib. 2. Variar.
This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy of
In songs elysian lapped my mind!
The casket where my memory lays Those little gems of poesy,
Which time has saved from ancient days!
Take one of these, to Lais sung,
a much higher sphere; but the excellent di-positions 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 caprice 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 welcore of such a board, and with the taste of such Madeira still upon his lips- col dolce in bocca 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 Rochefoucault Liancourt. vol. ii.
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
SWEETLY1 you kiss, my Lais dear!
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they
Why is it thus ? do tell me, sweet!
SUCH, while in air I floating hung,
With Boreas to make out the trio.
How sweetly, after all our ills,
Serenely o'er its fragrant hills!
Warm from the very lips of health?
Drirer sloop of war, in which I went, was built | at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent sen-boat. She was then commanded by my very regretted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was killed aboard the Lily, 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 Lily 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 Paulus Silentiarius, and may be found in the Analecta of Brunck, vol. iii. p. 72. But as the reading there is somewhat different from what I have followed in this trans
lation, 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
Ηδυ μεν εστι φιλημα το Λαιδος· ἡδυ δε αυτων
Oh! could you view the scenery dear,
That now beneath my window lies,
In glassy calm the waters sleep,
The coral rocks they love to steep!
That languish idly round the mast.
To float along a burning sky!
To him, who in his heavenward flight,
To planet-isles of odorous light!
Μυρομενην δ' εφιλησα· τα δ ̓ ὡς δροσερης απο πηγής,
the rocks are seen beneath to a very great depth;
3 In Kircher's Ecstatic Journey to Heaven,
* When the genius of the world and his fellow
These are the sprites, oh radiant | Away, away, bewildering look!
Or all the boast of Virtue's o'er; Go-hie thee to the sage's book, And learn from him to feel no more!
I cannot warn thee! every touch, That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as much,
Oh! quite as much, as thou dost
Yet stay, dear love-one effort yet-
The light that leads my soul astray!
Thou say'st that we were born to meet, That our hearts bear one common
Oh, lady! think, how man's deceit
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel! When o'er thy face some gleam of thought,
Like day-beams through the morning air,
Hath gradual stole, and I have caught The feeling ere it kindled there :` The sympathy I then betrayed,
Perhaps was but the child of art; The guile of one who long hath played With all these wily nets of heart.
Oh! thou hast not my virgin vow!
Though few the years I yet have told, Canst thou believe I lived till now,
With loveless heart or senses cold?
No-many a throb of bliss and pain,
For many a maid, my soul hath proved;
With some I wantoned wild and vain, While some I truly, dearly loved!
The cheek to thine I fondly lay,
To theirs hath been as fondly laid; The words to thee I warmly say,
To them have been as warmly said.
of the heavens, a casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks Whether baptism may be perf rmed with the waters of Venus ?'— 'An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui pos. sit ?'-to which the genius answers,' Certainly.'
Then scorn at once a languid heart,
Which long hath lost its early spring; Think of the pure bright soul thou art, And-keep the ring, oh! keep the ring.
Enough-now, turn thine eyes again; What, still that look and still that sigh!
Dost thou not feel my counsel then?
While thus to mine thy bosom lies, While thus our breaths commingling glow,
"Twere more than woman to be wise, "Twere more than man to wish thee
Did we not love so true, so dear,
This lapse could never be forgiven; But hearts so fond and lips so nearGive me the ring, and now-oh heaven!
But, 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee, That, oh! beneath the blessed sun, So fair there are but thou and she! Whate'er may be her angel birth,
She was thy lovely perfect twin, And wore the only shape on earth' That could have charmed my soul to
Your eyes!-the eyes of languid doves Were never half so like each other! The glances of the baby loves
Resemble less their warm-eyed mother!
Her lip!-oh, call me not false-hearted, When such a lip I fondly pressed, 'Twas Love some melting cherry parted,
Gave thee one half and her the rest! And when, with all thy murmuring
They sued, half open, to be kissed, I could as soon resist thine own
And them, Heaven knows! I ne'er resist.
ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL Then, scorn me not, though false I be,
'Twas love that waked the dear ex
My heart had been more true to thee, Had mine eye prized thy beauty less!
WHEN I loved you, I can't but allow
FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER. FILL high the cup with liquid flame, And speak my Heliodora's name; Repeat its magic o'er and o'er, And let the sound my lips adore