ilNIV.X)& CALIF. LIBHARY, LOS hmttti^ TuHtjheJ iS J^ iia( hv Jjnuj l^ptnttrOHTtenA S(rte%. EPISTLES, ODES, AND. OTHER POEMS. BY THOMAS MOORE, Esq. TANTI NON ES, AIS. SAPIS, LUPERCE. Martial, Lib. i. Epig. 118. LONDON: PRINTED FOR JAMES CARPENTER, OLD BOND STREET, BOOKSELLER TO THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESSES THE PKINCE OF WALKS AND DUKE OF YORK. 1«06. TO FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA, GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, &c. &c. MY LORD, It is impossible to think of addressing a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to mind the well-known reply of the Spartan to a rhetorician, who proposed to pronounce an eulo- gium on Hercules. " On Hercules!" said the honest Spartan, " who ever thought of blaming Hercules ?" In a similar manner the concurrence of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of 30ur Lordship a very superfluous task. I shall therefore be silent on the subject, and merely entreat your indulgence to the very humble tri- bute of gratitude, Avhich I have here the honour to present. I am MY LORD, With every feeling of attachment and respect. Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 27, Burl/ Street, St. James's, .Inrlim, 1806. THOxMAS MOORE. nEPinAETSAI MEN HOAAAS HOAEIS KAAON, ENOIKHSAI AE TH KPATISTH XPH2IMON. Plviarch. ifspi Houiwv arywyrn. PREFACE. 1 HE principal poems in the following Collection were written during an absence of fourteen months from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not the mo- tive of my voyage to America, yet it happened that the gratification of curiosity was the only advantage which I derived from it. Finding myself in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting speculation, I determined to employ the short period of time, which my plan of return to Europe afforded me, in travelling through a few of the States and acquiring some knowledge of the inhabitants. The impression, which my mind received from the character and manners of these republicans, suggested the Epistles which are written from the City of Wash- Vlll PREFACE. ington and Lake Erie \ How far I was right, in thus assuming the tone of a satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger and a visitor, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to investi- gate. All I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which I have given ; and though prudence might have dictated gentler language, truth, I think, would have justified severer. I went to America, with prepossessions by no means unfavourable, and indeed rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to the purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which I had early imbibed in my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long been looked to as a retreat from real or imagi- nary oppression ; as the elysian Atlantis, where per- secuted patriots might find their visions realized, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. I was completely disappointed in every flattering ex- pectation which I had formed, and was inclined to say to America, as Horace says to his mistress, " intentata ' Epistles VI. VII. and ^^III. PREFACE. IX iiites." Brissot, in the preface to his travels, observes, that " freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as to border upon a state of nature ;" and there certainly is a close approximation to savage life, not only in the liberty which tliey enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit and of private animosity which results from it. This lllil)eral zeal embitters all social inter- course ; and, though I scarcely could hesitate in select- ing the party, Avhose views appeared the more pure and rational, yet I was sorry to observe that, in asserting their opinions, they both assume an equal share of in- tolerance ; the Democrats, consistently w ith their principles, exhibiting a vulgarity of rancour, which the Federalists too often are so forgetful of their cause as to imitate. The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and in- deed the unpolished state of society in general, w ould neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest igno- rance of the gloss of refinement, which may be look- ed for in a new and inexperienced people. But, when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, and all the pride, of civilization, while they are a X PREFACE. Still SO remote from its elegant characteristics, it is impossible not to feel that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of corruption represses every sanguine hope of the future energy and greatness of America. I am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and by no means suflicient to convince ; for the limits of a preface will not allow me to enter into a justification of my opi- nions, and I am committed on the subject as effectu- ally, as if I had written volumes in their defence. My reader, however, is apprised of the very cursory ob- servation upon which these opinions are founded, and can easily decide for himself upon the degree of atten- tion or confidence which they merit. With respect to the poems in general, which occupy the following pages, I know not in what manner to apologize to the public for intruding upon their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such a world of epicurean atoms as I have here brought in conflict together. To say that I have been tempted by the liberal off*ers of my bookseller is an excuse which can PREFACE. XI hope for but little indulgence from the critic; yet I own that, without this seasonable inducement, these poems very possibly would never have been submitted to the world. The glare of publication is too strong for such imperfect productions : they should be shewn but to the eye of friendship, in that dim light of pri- vacy, which is as favourable to poetical as to female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances every charm which it displays. Besides, this is not a period for the idle occupations of poetry, and times like the present require talents more active and more useful. Few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and I sincerely regret that I have had the leisure to write them. CONTENTS. Pag" xliPisTLE I. To Lord Viscount Strangford 1 Stanzas. " A beam of tranquillity smil'd in the west" 7 The Tell-Tale Lyre 9 To the Flying Fish 14 Epistle II. To Miss M e l6 To Cara. " Conceal'd within the shady wood" 24 To Ditto. " When midnight came to close the year" 27 To the Invisible Girl 29 Peace and Glory 33 To " To be the theme of every hour" 35 Song. " Take back the sigh," 37 A Ballad. " They made her a grave too cold and damp" 38 Epistle III. To the Marchioness Dowager of D — n — g — ll 41 The Genius of Harmony , . . . . 47 Epistle IV. To George Morgan, Esq 56 The Wedding Ring 66 Lying 70 To " Put off the vestal veil," 7i2 The Resemblance . . . . , 73 To « When I lov'd you I can't but allow" 75 From the Greek of Meleager 76 CONTENTS, ODES TO NEA. Page OdI' I. " Nay, tempt me not to love again" 81 II. " I pray you, let us roam no more" 84 III. " You read it in my languid eyes" 86 IV. A Drf.am of Antiquity. 89 V. " AVell, peace to thy heart, though another's it be" 95 VI. " If I were yonder wave, my dear" 97 VII. " The first ambrosial child of bliss" 100 VIII. The Snow-Spirit 102 IX. " I STOLE along the flowery bank" 104 X. " Oh! it was fill'd with words of flame" 108 XI. " I found her not, the chamber seem'd" 110 XII. " Behold, my love, the curious gem" 112 XIII. " There's not a look, a word of thine" 115 Epistle V. To Joseph Atkinsox, Esq 117 Love and Reason HI " Fanny, my love, we ne'er were sages" 125 " Nay, do not weep, my Fan.ny dear!" 126 The Snake, " My love and I, the other day," 128 " 'Twas a new feeling — something more 130 Aspasia 132 The Grecian Girl's Dream of the Blessed Island 134 The Senses, a Dream 143 The Steersman's Song 148 To Cloe. " I could resign that eye of blue" 150 Fragments of a Journal to G. M. Esq 151 The Vase 162 CONTENTS, Page The Wreath and the Chain 164 Song. " I ne'er on that lip for a minute have gaz'd" 167 To " And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade 169 Epistle VI. To Lord Viscount Forbes 172 Song. " The wreath you wove," 183 At Night 184 Anacreontic 186 To 's Picture 188 From thf, Greek IQO Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love IQl To His Serene Highness the Duke of Montpensier 194 The Philosopher Aristippus to a Lamp which was given him by Lais . . 196 To Mrs. Bl h D. Written in her Album 205 Epistle VIL To Thomas Hcme, Esq. M. D 209 Lines written on leaving Philadelphia 216 The Fall of LIebe, a Dithyrambic Ode 219 To " That wrinkle, when first I espied it," .... 2,30 Anacreontic, " She never look'd so kind before" 231 To Mrs. " Is not thy mind a gentle mind ?" 234 Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi at the Tomb of her Mother 236 Rings and Seals 239 To Miss Susan B ckf d, on her Singing 242 Lines written at the Cohos, or Falls of the Mohawk River 244 To " I often wish that thou wert dead," 247 Cloris and Fanny 248 On a Beautiful East Indian 249 To Miss . " With woman's form an 1 woman's tricks" .... 251 To . " How can I sing of fragrant sighs" 252 Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 254 CONTENTS. Page To Mrs. Henry T giie, on reading her Psyche 258 Impromptu upon leaving some Friends 26'2 Ep;stle VIII. To the Honourable William Spencer 265 A Warning 272 To . " 'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now," .... 274 From the High-Priest of Apollo to the Virgin of Delphi 276 Woman 285 Ballad Stanzas 286 To . *' Come, take the harp — " 287 A Vision of Philosophy 289 To • . " Tiie world had just begun to steal" .... 300 Dreams to 302 A Canadian Boat-Song 305 Epistle IX. To Lady Charlotte II — wd — on 308 Impromptu, " 'Twas but for a moment" 320 Written on passing Deadman's Island 321 To the Boston Frigate 323 To Lady H 327 To ■ ■ . " Never mind how the pedagogue proses" . . 33 1 Extract from the Devil among the Scholars 333 EPISTLE I. TO LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD. ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT. OwEET Moon! if like Crotona's sage', By any spell my hand could dare To make thy disk its ample page. And write my thoughts, my wishes there ; How many a friend, whose careless eye Now wanders o'er that starry sky. Should smile, upon thy orb to meet The recollection, kind and sweet, ' Pythagoras; who was supposed to have a power of writing upon th^ Moon by the means of a magic mirror. See Bayle, Art. Pjjthag. B 2 The reveries of fond regret. The promise, never to forget, And all my heart and soul would send To many a dear-lov'd, distant friend ! Oh Strangford ! when we parted last, I little thought the times were past. For ever past, when brilliant joy Was all my vacant heart's employ : When, fresh from mirth to mirth again. We thought the rapid hours too few. Our only use for knowledge then To turn to rapture all we knew ! Delicious days of whim and soul ! When, mingling lore and laugh together. We lean'd the book on Pleasure's bowl, And turn'd the leaf with Folly's feather ! I little thought that all were fled, That, ere that Summer's bloom was shed. My eye should see the sail unfurl'd That wafts me to the Western World ! But, oh! 'twas time in youth, awhile. To cool the season's burning smile. 3 The heart may let its wanton wing Repose in Pleasure's soft'ning spring ; But, if it wait for Winter's breeze, The spring will dry, the heart will freeze ! And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope, Oh ! she awak'd such happy dreams, And gave my soul such tempting scope For all its dearest, fondest schemes, That not Verona's child of song. When flying from the Phrygian shore, With lighter hopes could bound along, Or pant to be a wanderer more^! Even now delusive Hope will steal Amid the dark regrets I feel. Soothing, as yonder placid beam Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam. And smiles them into tranquil sleep ! « Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th Carmen of this Poet: Jam mens praetrepidans avet vagari. Jam laeti studio pedes vigescimt I 4 Oh ! such a blessed night as this, I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! The sea is like a silvery lake, And, o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it fear'd to wake The slumber of the silent tides ! The only envious cloud that lowers, Hath hung its shade on Pico's height^ Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers, And scowling at this heav'n of light, Exults to see the infant storm Cling darkly round his giant form ! Now, could I range those verdant isles, Invisible, at this soft hour, And see the looks, the melting smiles, That brighten many an orange bower ; ^ Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which the Ihland derives its name. It is said by some to be as high as the Peak of Teneriffe. And could I lift each pious veil, And see the blushing cheek it shades. Oh ! I should have full many a tale, To tell of young Azorian maids*. Dear Strangford ! at this hour, perhaps. Some faithful lover (not so blest As they, w^ho in their ladies' laps May cradle every wish to rest,) Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul. Those madrigals, of breath divine, Which Camoens' harp from rapture stole And gave, all glowing warm, to thine ^ ! Oh ! could the lover learn from thee, And breathe them with thy graceful tone. Such dear, beguiling minstrelsy Would make the coldest nymph his own ! But, hark ! — the boatswain's pipings tell 'Tis time to bid my dream farewell : * I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabitants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. This is an assertion in which even Guthrie may be credited. ' These islands belong to the Portugueze. 6 Eight bells I — the middle watch is set ; Good night, my Strang ford ! — ne'er forget That, far beyond the Western Sea Is one, whose heart remembers thee ! STANZAS. ©u^Of Js TCor sjx,a; jj,s v^otTipuivst ra.$s' ^schj/l. Fragment. A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the West, The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest. Still heav'd, as remembering ills that were o'er ! Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour. Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead. And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power, As the billow the force of the gale that was fled ! I thought of the days, when to pleasure alone My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; When the saddest emotion my bosom had kno^vn. Was pity for those who were wiser than I ! 8 I felt, how the pure, intellectual fire In luxury loses its heavenly ray ; How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire, The pearl of the soul may be melted away ! And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame, That pleasure no more might its purity dim ; And that sullied but little, or brightly the same, Imiffht ffive back the ffem I had borrow'dfromhim! The thought was extatic ! I felt as if Heaven Had already the wreath of eternity shown ; As if, passion all chasten' d and error forgiven, My heart had begun to be purely its own I I look'd to the West, and the beautiful sky Which morning had clouded, was clouded no more- " Oh! thus," I exclaim'd, " can a heavenly Eye ** Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before !" 9 THE TELL-TALE LYRE. I've heard, there was in ancient days A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 'Twas heav'n to hear its fairy lays. If half be true that legends tell. Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs. And to their breath it breath' d again In such entrancing melodies As ear had never drunk till then ! Not harmony's serenest touch So stilly could the notes prolong ; They were not heavenly song so much As they were dreams of heavenly song ! c 10 If sad the heart, whose murmuring air Along the chords in languor stole, The soothings it awaken'd there Were eloquence from Pity's soul ! Or if the sigh, serene and light, Was but the breath of fancied woes. The string, that felt its airy flight. Soon whisper'd it to bland repose ! And oh ! when lovers burn'd alone. If, mid their bliss the Lyre was near. It made their murmurs all its own. And echoed notes that heav'n might hear ! There was a nymph, who long had lov'd. But dar'd not tell the world how well ; The shades, where she at evening rov'd. Alone could know, alone could tell. 'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole So oft, to make the dear-one blest. Whom love had giv'n her virgin soul, And nature soon gave all the rest ! 11 Within a cave, where many an hour Their bliss had found its secret bed, A Lyre, of this enchanted power. Hung, nightly-whispering- o'er their head ! Oh ! think, with every breath that mov'd From lips, so thrilling warm as theirs, Think how, with every sigh, it lov'd To mingle its dissolving airs ! And, oft as passion's milder fire Could love's communing calm allow, The youth would make the grateful Lyre A pillow for his angel's brow ! And while the melting vows she breath'd On all its echoes wanton'd round, Her hair, amid the strings enwreath'd, Through golden mazes charm' d the sound I Alas ! their hearts but little thought, While thus entranc'd they listening lay. That every sound the Lyre was taught Should lino-er long, and long betray ! 12 Yet, who can blame the guiltless Lyre 1 Long had its spirit learn' d to dwell On every accent of desire. That from their lips unconscious fell ; The falter'd name, the murmuring play, The bashful sigh, the chiding dear, The lisping things that love will say, And all but love will blush to hear ! Till, so commingled with its soul Was every blissful breathing grown. That other sighs, unanswer'd stole. Nor chang'd the sweet, the treasur'd tone. Unhappy nymph ! thy hallow' d name To every whispering lip was sigh d ; Thy secret vow, thy pleas of shame On every ear in murmurs died I The fatal Lyre, by envy's hand Hung high amid the breezy groves, To every passing gale that fann'd Betray'd the mystery of your loves ! 13 Yet oh ! — not many a sufFering hour, Thy cup of shame by man was giv'n ; Benignly came some pitymg power. And took the Lyre and thee to heaven ! There, as thy lover drys the tear Yet warm from life's malignant wrongs, Within his arms, thou lov'st to hear The luckless Lyre's remember'd songs ! Still do your happy souls attune The notes it learn'd, on earth, to move ; Still, breathing o'er the chords, commune In sympathies of angel love I 14 TO THE FLYING-FISH' W^HEN I have seen thy snowy wing O'er the blue wave at evening spring, And give those scales, of silver white, So gaily to the eye of light, As if thy frame were form'd to rise. And live amid the glorious skies ; Oh ! it has made me proudly feel. How like thy Aving's impatient zeal Is the pure soul, that scorns to rest Upon the world's ignoble breast, * 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; a-vyyimav 7oig TTSTo^svois TTpof T« v))xT«. With this thought in our minds when we first see the Flying-Fish, we could almost fancy, that we are present at the mo- ment of creation, and witness the birth of the first bird from the waves. 15 But takes the plume that God lias given, And rises into light and heaven I But, when I see that wing, so bright. Grow languid with a moment's flight. Attempt the paths of air, in vain. And sink into the waves again ; Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er ; Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar. But errins: man must blush to think. Like thee, again, the soul may sink I 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 ! 16 EPISTLE II. TO MISS M E. FROM NORFOLK. IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 1803. In days, my Kate, when life was new, When, luU'cl with innocence and you, I heard, in home's beloved shade. The din the world at distance made ; When, every night my weary head Sunk on its own unthorned bed, And, mild as evening's matron hour Looks on the faintly shutting flower, A mother saw our eyelids close, • And bless'd them into pure repose ! Then, haply if a week, a day, I linger'd from your arms away, 17 How long the little absence seem'cl ! How bright the look of welcome beam'd, As mute you heard, with eager smile, My tales of all that pass'd the while ! 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 your seal can reach mine eye ; And oh I ev'n then, that darling seal, (Upon whose print, I us'd to feel The breath of home, the cordial air Of loved lips, still freshly there !) Must come, alas ! through every fate Of time and distance, cold and late. When the dear hand, whose touches fill'd The leaf with sweetness may be chill'd ! But hence, that gloomy thought ! at last. Beloved Kate ! the waves are past : I tread on earth securely now, And the green cedar's living bough Breathes more refreshment to my eyes Than could a Claude's divinest dies ! D 18 At length I touch the happy sphere To liberty and virtue dear. Where man looks up, and proud to claim His rank within the social frame, Sees a grand system round him roll. Himself its centre, sun and soul ! Far from the shocks of Europe ; far From every w^ild, elliptic star That, shooting w^ith a devious fire. Kindled by heaven's avenging ire. So oft hath into chaos hurl'd The systems of the ancient world ! The warrior here, in arms no more. Thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, And glorying in the rights they won For hearth and altar, 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, Eff*acing with her splendid share. The drops that war had sprinkled there ! 19 Thrice happy land ! where he who flies From the dark ills of other skies. From scorn, or want's unnerving woes, May shelter him in proud repose ! Hope sings along the yellow sand His welcome to a patriot land ; At once, the mighty wood receives The stranger in its world of leaves, Which soon their barren glory yield To the warm shed and cultur'd field ; And he, who came, of all bereft. To whom malignant fate had left Nor home nor friends nor country dear. Finds home and friends and country here ! Such is the picture, warmly such. That long the spell of fancy's touch Hath painted to my sanguine eye Of man's new world of liberty ! Oh ! ask me not, if truth will seal The reveries of fancy's zeal. If yet, my charmed eyes behold These features of an age of gold — D 2 20 No yet, alas ! no gleaming trace ^ ! Never did youth, who lov'd a face From portrait's rosy, flattering art, Recoil with more regret of heart, To find an owlet eye of grey. Where painting pour'd the sapphire's ray. Than I have felt, indignant felt, To think the glorious dreams should melt, ' Such romantic works as " The American Farmer's Letters," and the ac- count 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 revo- lutionary motives, have contributed their share to the diflusion of this flattering misconception. A visit to the country is however quite sufficient to correct even the most enthusiastic prc^oaacssion. In the ferment which the French revolution excited among the democrats of America, and the licentious sympathy with which they shared in the wildest excesses of jacobinism, we may find one source of that vulgarity of vice, that hostility to all the graces of life, which distinguishes the present demagogues of the United States, and has become indeed too generally the characteristic of their countrymen. But there is another cause of the corruption of private morals, which, encouraged as it is by the government and identified with the interests of the community, seems to threaten the decay of all honest principle in America. I allude to those fraudulent violations of neutrality to which they are indebted for the most lucrative part of their commerce, and by which they have so long infringed and counteracted the maritime rights and advantages of this country. This unwarrantable trade is necessarily abetted by such a system of collusion, imposture, and perjury, as cannot fail to spread rapid con- tamination around it. 21 Which oft, in boyhood's witching time, Have rapt me to this wond'rous clime I But, courage ! yet, my wavering hearty Blame not the temple's meanest part \ Till you have trac'd the fabric o'er : — As yet, we have beheld no more Than just the porch to freedom's fane. And, though a sable drop may stain The vestibule, 'tis impious sin To doubt there's holiness within ! So here I pause — and now, my Kate, To you (whose simplest ringlet's fate Can claim more interest in my soul Than all the Powers from pole to pole) One word at parting; in the tone Most sweet to you, and most my own. 3 Norfolk, it must be owned, is an unfavourable specimen of Araericr 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 fonn. 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. It is in truth a most disagreeable place, and the best the journalist or geographer can say of it is, that it abounds in dogs, in negroes, and in democrats. For further particulars see Weld and Liancourt. The simple notes I send you here *, Though rude, my love, would still be dear, If you but knew the trance of thought. In which my mind their murmurs caught. 'Twas one of those enchanting dreams, That lull me oft, when music seems To pour the soul in sound along. And turn its every sigh to song ! I thought of home, the according lays Respir'd the breath of happier days ; Warmly in every rising note I felt a sweet remembrance float, Till, led by music's fairy chain, I wander' d back to home again ! Oh ! love the song, and let it oft Live on your lip, in warble soft ! Say that it tells you, simply well. All I have bid its murmurs tell, Of memory's glow, of dreams that shed The tinge of joy when joy is fled, And all the hearts illusive hoard Of love renew'd and friends restor'd ! * A trifling attempt at musical composition accompanied this Epistle. 23 Now, sweet, adieu ! — this artless air, And 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 the gentle spirit drew From honey flowers the morning dew! ' The poems, which immediately follow. * Bermuda. 24 TO CARA, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. Conceal'd within the shady wood A mother left her sleeping child, And flew, to cull her rustic food. The fruitage of the forest wild. But storms upon her path-way rise. The mother roams, astray and weeping ; Far from the weak appealing cries Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. She hopes, she fears; a light is seen. And gentler blows the night-wind's breath ; Yet no — 'tis gone — the storms are keen. The baby may be chill'd to death ! 25 Perhaps his little eyes are shaded Dim by death's eternal chill — And yet, perhaps, they are not faded, Life and love may light them still. Thus, when my soul, with parting sigh, Hung on thy hand's bewildering touch, And, timid, ask'd that speaking eye, If parting pain'd thee half so much : I thought, and oh ! forgive the thought. For who, by eyes like thine inspir'd, Could e'er resist the flattering fault Of fancying what his soul desir'd ? Yes — I did think, in Cara's mind, Though yet to Cara's mind unknown, I left one infant wish behind, One feeling, which I call'd my own ! Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest, How did I ask of pity's care. To shield and strengthen, in thy breast. The nursling I had cradled there. £ 26 And, many an hour beguil'd by pleasure, And many an hour of sorrow numbering, I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, I left within thy bosom slumbering. Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it. Haply, it yet a throb may give — Yet no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it ! Oh, Cara ! — does the infant live ? 27 TO CAR A, ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY. When midnight came to close the year, We sigh'd to think it thus should take The hours it gave us — hours as dear As sympathy and love could make Their blessed moments ! every sun Saw us, my love, more closely one ! But, Car A, when the dawn was nigh Which came another year to shed, The smile we caught from eye to eye Told us, those moments were not fled; Oh no ! — we felt, some future sun Should see us still more closely one ! 28 Thus may we ever, side by side. From happy years to happier glide, And still, my Cara, may the sigh We give to hours, that vanish o'er us. Be follow'd by the smiling eye. That Hope shall shed on scenes before us ! 29 TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL'. They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, That you are not a daughter of ether and light. Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms ; That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your breast As mortal as ever were tasted or prest ! But I will not believe them — no, science ! to you I have long bid a last and a careless adieu : Still flying from nature to study her laws. And dulling delight by exploring its cause, You forget how superior, for mortals below, Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know. ' This and the subsequent poem have appeared in the pubhc prmtg. 30 Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete, Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet ; How rays are confus'd, or how particles fly Through the medium refiii'd of a glance or a sigh ! Is there one, who but once would not ratherhave known it, Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it? No — no — but for you, my invisible love, I will swear, you are one of those spirits, that rove By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, When the star of the west on his solitude shines. And the magical fingers of fancy have hung Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue ! Oh! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; Like you, with a veil of seclusion between. His song to the world let him utter unseen, And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres. Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears ! Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love. In the -wearisome ways I am fated to rove. To have you for ever invisibly nigh. Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh ! Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care, I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air. 31 And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew, To steal in the pauses one whisper from you. Oh ! come and be near me, for ever be mine. We shall hold in the air a communion divine. As sweet as, of old, was imagin'd to dwell In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell. And oft, at those lingering moments of night. When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is light, You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love. Such as angel to angel might whisper above ! Oh spirit ! — and then, could you borrow the tone Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known. The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd With her essence for ever my heart and my mind ! Though lonely and far from the light of her smile, An exile and weary and hopeless the while. Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear, I will think at that moment my Car a is near. That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak. And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek. And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by. For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh I 32 Sweet spirit ! if such be your magical power, It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; And let fortune's realities frown as they will, Hope, fancy, and Car a may smile for me still ! 33 PEACE AND GLORY. WRITTEN AT THE COMMEiNCEMENT OF THE PRESENT WAR. Where is dow the smile, that lighteii'd Every hero's couch of rest? Where is now the hope, that brighten'd Honor's eye and pity's breast ? Have we lost the wreath, we braided For our weary warrior-men ? Is the faithless olive faded, Must the bay be pluck'd again ? Passing hour of sunny weather Lovely, in your light awhile, Peace and Glory, wed together, Wander'd through the blessed isle. F 34 And the eyes of peace would glisten, Dewy as a morning sun. When the timid maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done. Is the hour of dalliance over ? Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover To the desart's still retreat? Fare you well ! with sighs we banish Nymph so fair and guest so bright; Yet the smile, with which you vanish. Leaves behind a soothing light ! Soothing light I that long shall sparkle O'er your warrior's sanguine way. Through the field where horrors darkle. Shedding hope's consoling ray ! Long the smile his heart will cherish. To its absent idol true. While around him myriads perish. Glory still will sigh for you ! 35 TO 1801. To be the theme of every hour The heart devotes to fancy's power. When her soft magic fills the mind With friends and joys we've left behind, And joys return and friends are near. And all are welcom'd with a tear ! In the mind's purest seat to dwell, To be remember'd oft and well By one whose heart, though vain and wild. By passion led, by youth beguil'd, Can proudly still aspire to know The feeling soul's divinest glow ! If thus to live in every part Of a lone weary wanderer's heart ; If thus to be its sole employ Can give thee one faint gleam of joy. 36 Believe it, Mary ! oh ! believe A tongue that never can deceive, When passion doth not first betray And tinge the thought upon its way ! In pleasure's dream or sorrow's hour. In crowded hall or lonely bower, The business of my life shall be. For ever, to remember thee ! And though that heart be dead to mine. Since love is life and wakes not thine, I'll take thy image, as the form Of something I should long to warm, Which, though it yield no answering thrill, Is not less dear, is lovely still ! I'll take it, wheresoe'er I stray. The bright, cold burthen of my way ! To keep the semblance fresh in bloom, My heart shall be its glowing tomb. And love shall lend his sweetest care. With memory to embalm it there ! 37 SONG. Take back the sigh, thy lips of art In passion's moment breath'd to me ; Yet, no — it must not, will not part, 'Tis now the life-breath of my heart. And has become too pure for thee ! Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh With all the warmth of truth imprest ; Yet, no — the fatal kiss may lie. Upon thy lip its sweets would die, Or bloom to make a rival blest ! Take back the vows that, night and day. My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thine; Yet, no — allow them still to stay, They might some other heart betray. As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine ! 38 A BALLAD. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. " 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. " Xhey made her a grave, too cold and damp " For a soul so warm and true ; " And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp", " Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, *' She paddles her white canoe. ' The Great Dismal Swamp Is ten or twelve miles distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it (about seven miles long) is called Drum- mond's Pond. 39 " And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, *' And her paddle I soon shall hear ; " Long and loving our life shall be, "■ And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, " When the footstep of death is near ! " Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds. Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds. And man never trod before ! And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep. If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew ! And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake. And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, " Oh ! when shall I see the dusky Lake, " And the white canoe of my dear ?" 40 He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface play'd — *' Welcome," he said, " my dear-one's light !" And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, The name of the death-cold maid ! Till he hoUow'd a boat of the birchen bark, Which carried him off from shore ; Far he follow'd the meteor spark. The wind was high and the clouds were dark, And the boat return'd no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp, To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp. And paddle their white canoe ! 41 EPISTLE III. TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF D LL. FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY 1804.. Lady ! where'er you roam, whatever beam Of bright creation warms your mimic dream ; Whether you trace the valley's golden meads. Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads' ; Enamour'd catch the mellow hues that sleep, At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep ; Or, lingering o'er the Lake, at day's decline, Mark the last shadow on the holy shrine^, ' Her Ladyship, I supposed, was at this time still in Switzerland, where the powers of her pencil must have been frequently awakened. * The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of Lucerne. G 4:2 Where, many a night, the soul of Tell complains Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains ; Oh ! lay the pencil for a moment by, Turn from the tablet that creative eye. And let its splendour, like the morn ng ray Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay ! Yet, Lady ! no — for song so rude as mine. Chase not the wonders of your dream divine ; Still, radiant eye ! upon the tablet dwell ; Still, rosy finger ! w eave your pictur'd spell ; And, while I sing the animated smiles Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, Oh ! might the song awake some bright design. Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line. Proud were my soul, to see its humble thought On painting's mirror so divinely caught, And wondering Genius, as he lean'd to trace The faint conception kindling into grace, Might love my numbers for the spark they threw. And bless the lay that lent a charm to you ! Have you not oft, in nightly vision, stray'd To the pure isles of ever-blooming shade. 43 Which bards of old, with kindly magic, placd For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste ^? There as eternal gales, with fragrance warm, Breath'd from elysium through each shadowy form, In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song. They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours along ! Nor yet in song, that mortal ear may suit, For every spirit was itself a lute. Where virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze, Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies ! 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 ! ' M. Gebelin says, in his Monde Primitif, " Lorsque Strabon crut que Jes anciens theologians et Poetes placoient les champs elysees dans les Isles de rOcean Atlantique, il u'entendit rien a 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. 44 The morn was lovely, every wave was still, When the first perfume of a cedar-hill Sweetly awak'd us, and with smiling charms. The fairy harbour woo'd us to its arms*. Gently we stole, before the languid wind. Through plaintain shades, that like an awning twin'd And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales ; While, far reflected o'er the wave serene Each wooded island shed so soft a green. That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play. Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way ! , Never did weary bark more sweetly glide, Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide ! Along the margin, many a brilliant dome. White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, Brighten'd the wave ; in every myrtle grove Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love. * Nothing can be more romantic than tlie little harbour of St. George's. The number of beautiful islets, tiie 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, form all together the sweetest miniature of nature that can be imagined. 45 Some elfin mansion sparkled tbrougli ihe shade ; And, while the foliage interposing play'd. Wreathing the structure into various grace, Fancy would love, in many a form, to trace The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch % And dream of temples, till her kindling torch Lighted me back to all the glorious days Of Attic genius ; and I seem'd to gaze On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount. Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. Sweet airy beingM who, in brighter hours, Liv'd on the perfume of these honied bowers, ' This is ail illusion which, to the few who are fanciful enough to indulge ill 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 tlie appearance of little Grecian temples, and fancy may embellish the poor fisherman's hut with columns which the pencil of 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 well and warmly, but I never could turn his house into a Grecian temple again. " Ariel. Among the many charms which Bermuda has for a poetic eye, we cannot for an instant forget that it is the scene of Shakspeare's Tempest, and that here he conjured up the " delicate Ariel," who alone is worth the whole heaven of ancient mythology. 46 In velvet buds, at evening, lov'd to lie, And win with music every rose's sigh ! Though weak the magic of my humble strain. To charm your spirit from its orb again, Yet oh ! for her, beneath whose smile I sing. For her, (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing Were dimm'd or ruffled by a wintry sky. Could smooth its feather and relume its dye,) A moment wander from your starry sphere, And if the lime-tree grove that once was dear, The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill. The sparkling grotto can delight you still. Oh ! take their fairest tint, their softest light, Weave all their beauty into dreams of night. And, while the lovely artist slumbering lies. Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes ; Borrow for sleep her own creative spells, And brightly shew what song but faintly tells ! 47 THE GENIUS OF HARMONY. AN IRREGULAR ODE. AD HARMONIAM CANIT MUNDUS. Vide Cicero, de Nat. Deor. Lib. 3. T. HERE lies a shell beneath the waves. In many a hollow winding wreath'cl, Such as of old. Echoed the breath that w arbling sea-maids breath'd ; This magic shell From the white bosom of a syren fell, As once she wander'd by the tide that laves Sicilia's sands of gold. It bears Upon its shining side, the mystic notes Of those entrancing airs', The genii of the deep were w^ont to swell, When heaven's eternal orbs their midnight music roU'd ! ' III L'Histoire naturelle des Antilles, there is an account of some cu- rious shells, found at Cura^oa, on the back of which were lines, filled 48 Oh ! seek it, wheresoe'er it floats ; And, if the power Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear, Go, bring- the bright shell to my bower. And I will fold thee in such downy dreams. As lap the spirit of the seventh sphere. When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his earM filled with musical characters so distinct and perfect, that the writer assures us a very charming trio was sunsr from one of them. " On le nomme musical, par ce qu'il porte sur le dos des lignes noiratres pleines de notes, qui ont une espece de cle pour les mettre en chant, de sorte que Ton diroit qu'il ne manque que la lettre a cette tablature naturelle. Ce curieux gen- tilhomme (M. du Moatel) rapporte qu'il en a vu qui avoient cinq lignes, une cle et des notes, qui formoient un accord parfait. Quelq'un y avoit ajoute la lettre, que la nature avoit oubliee, et la faisoit chanter en forme de trio, dont I'air etoit fort agreable." Chap. 19- Art. 11. The author adds, a poet might imagine that these shells were used by the syrens at their concerts. ^ According to Cicero, and his commentator, Macrobius, the lunar tone is the gravest and faintest on the planetary heptachord. " Quam ob causam summus ille coeli stellifer cursus, cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto et excitato movetur sono; gravissimo autem hie lunaris atquc infimus." Somn. Scip. Because, says Macrobius, " spiritu ut in extremitate languescente jam volvitur, et propter angustias quibus penultimus orbis arctatur impetu leniore convertitur." In Somn. Scip. Lib. 2. Cap. 4. It is not very easy to understand the ancients in their musical arrangement of the heavenly bodies. See Ptolem. Lib. 3. Leone Hebreo, pursuing the idea of Aristotle, that the heavens are ani- mal, attributes their hannony to perfect and reciprocal love. " Non pero 49 And thou shall own, That, through the circle of creation's zone. Where matter darkles or where spirit beams ; From the pellucid tides^, that whirl The planets through their maze of song, To the small rill, that weeps along- Murmuring o'er beds of pearl ; From the rich sigh Of the sun's arrow through an evening sky*. To the faint breath the tuneful osier yields On Afric's burning fields^; manca fra loro il perfetto et reciproco amore : la causa principale, che ne mostra ii loro amore, e la lor amicitia harmoniaca & la concordantia, che per- petuamente si trova in loro." Dialog. '2. di Amore, p. 58. This " reciproco amore" of Leone is the (ptXoTrjg of the ancient Empedocles, who seems, in his Love and Hate of the Elements, to have given a glimpse of the principles of attraction and repulsion. See the fragment to which I allude in Laertius, KKKote IX.SV (piXoTyjTi, (rvvsf%o^iv . x. x. K. Lib. 8. Cap. 2. n. 12. ' Leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of vortices in the heavens, which he borrowed from Anaxagoras, and possibly suggested to Descartes. * Heraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, conjectures that the idea of the harmony of the spheres originated with this poet, who in representing the solar beams as arrows, supposes them to emit a peculiar sound in the air. * In the account of Africa which d'Ablancourt has translated, there is mention of a tree in that country, whose branches when shaken by the hand H 50 Oh ! thou shalt own this universe divine Is mine ! That I respire in all and all in me. One mighty mingled soul of boundless harmony ! Welcome, my shell ! How many a star has ceas'd to burn^. How many a tear, has Saturn's gleaming urn O'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept% Since thy aerial spell Hath in the waters slept ! produce very sweet sounds. " Le meme auteur (Abenzegar) dit, qu'il y a un certain arbre, qui produit des gaules comme d'osier, et qu' en les prenant a la main et les branlant, elles font une especed'harmoniefort agreable," &c. &c. L'Afrique de Marmol. * The extinction, or at least the disappearance of some of those fixed stars, Avhich we are taught to consider as suns, attended each by its system, is a curious subject for conjecture and hypothesis. Descartes thought that our earth might formerly have been a sun, which became obscured by a thick incrustation over its surface. This probably suggested the idea of a central fire. ^ Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the sea to be a tear. Tvjv BceXaiTocv jji^v iKocKit sivui Saxpuov. De Vit. and some one else, if 1 mistake not, has added the planet Saturn as the source of it. Empedocles, with similar affectation. 51 Mortal ! I fly, With the bright treasure to my choral sky, Where she, who wak'd its early swell, The syren, with a foot of fire. Walks o'er the great string of my Orphic Lyre*, Or guides around the burning pole The winged chariot of some blissful souP! While thou ! Oh son of earth ! what dreams shall rise for thee ! Beneath Hispania's sun, Thou'lt see a streamlet run, Which I have warm'd with dews of melody"'; Oh listen ! when the night-wind dies Down the still current, like a harp it sighs ! called the sea " the sweat of the earth :" i^pura trig yY\q. See Rittersliusius upon Porphyry, Num. 41. * The system of the harmonized orbs was styled by the ancients the Great Lyre of Orpheus, for which Lucian accounts, y\ Ss Aupw sTfToc^nog sHiru tjjv tuv v.ivH^:vt)iJv «s"pwv ocpfjioviav a-vvs(2c(kX;To. x. t. A. in Astrolog. 'HE EIS OXHMA. Platon. Timseus. '" This musical river is mentioned in the romance of Achilles Tatius. Ette/ -n-OTctju-S * * * riv h anHa-cei Bih-^g m v^ctrog XaAKvrof. The Latin version, in sup- plying the hiatus which is in the original, has placed the river in Hispania. " In Hispania quoque fluvius est, quem primo aspectu, &,c. &.c." 52 A liquid chord is every wave that flows, An airy plectrum every breeze that blows"! There, by that wonderous stream, Go, lay thy languid brow. And I will send thee such a godlike dream. Such mortal ! mortal ! hast thou heard of him'% Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre'^, Sate on the chill Pangaean mount'*. And, looking to the orient dim, Watcli'd the first flowing of that sacred fount, From which his soul had drunk its fire ! " These two lines are translated from the words of Achilles Tatius. Eav y«p vSarof 7rA.)jx.Tpov yiviTui. to pivj/.a. oi ug 7cw«p« XxKsi. Lib. 2. '^ Orpheus. " They called his lyre ap^a^oTpoTrov sTTTocxopSov Op(J!)fw?. See a curious work, by a professor of Greek at Venice, entitled " Hebdomades, sive septem de septenario libri." Lib. 4. Cap. 3. p. 177- " Eratosthenes, telling the extreme veneration of Orpheus for Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the Pangaean mountain at day-break, and there wait the rising of the sun, that he might be the first to hail its beams. E7r£yi/po- jMSvog TS TYig vvTCTog^ KocToc Ty\v icuBivijv iiti TO opof TO KocKHfjiivov Ylocyyoiiovy Trpoiri^svi Tag ayaToA«f, hoc t^ri tov 'HAzoy ti^mtov. KaTaf^p/o"^. i^4. 53 Oh ! think what visions, in that lonely hour, Stole o'er his musing breast ! 15 16 What pious ecstasy Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, Whose seal upon this world imprest The various forms of bright divinity ! Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove, 'Mid the deep horror ot that silent bower '\ Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber? When, free From every earthly chain. From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of pain, '^ There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us, which contain sublime ideas of the unity and magnificence of the Deity. As those which Justin Martyr has produced : 'Ovros [JLEv ^a'A'HEiov b; ypavov scs,tirriS' forre yap opxaircrai. 60 Bitter, as those when lovers part, In mystery from your eye-lid start ! Sadly you lean your head to mine. And round my neck in silence twine, Your hair along my bo«om spread. All humid with the tears you shed ! Oh ! I have kiss'd those lids of snow. Yet still, my love, like founts they flow. Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet- Why is it thus ? do, tell me, sweet ! Ah, Lais ! are my bodings right? Am I to lose you ? is to-night Our last go, false to heaven and me ! Your very tears are treachery. Such, while in air I floating hung. Such was the strain, " Morgante mio !" The muse and I together sung. With Boreas to make out the trio. But, bless the little fairy isle ! How sweetly after all our ills, We saw the dewy morning smile Serenely o'er its fragraiit hills ! 61 And felt the pure, elastic flow Of airs, that round this Eden blow, With honey freshness, caught by stealth Warm from the very lips of health ! Oh ! could you view the scenery dear. That now beneath my window lies. You'd think, that nature lavish'd here 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 sun-beam proudly show The coral rocks they love to steep M The fainting breeze of morning fails. The drowsy boat moves slowly past, And I can almost touch its sails That languish idly round the mast. ^ The water is so beautifully 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 thi'ough 62 The sun has now profusely given The flashes of a noontide heaven. And, as the wave reflects his beams, Another heaven its surface seems ! Blue light and clouds of silvery tears So pictur'd o'er the waters lie, That every languid bark appears To float along a burning sky ! Oh ! for the boat the angel gave ^ To him, who in his heaven-ward flight, Sail'd, o'er the sun's aetherial wave, To planet-isles of odorous light ! Sweet Venus, what a clime he found Within thy orb's ambrosial round ^ ! this difficult navigation, with a skill and confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors. ^ In Kircher's " Extatic 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) banc asbestinam naviculam com- moditati tuae praeparatam." Itinerar. 1. Dial. 1. Cap. 5. There are some very strange fancies in this work of Kircher. ' 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 j 63 There spring the breezes, rich and warm, That pant around thy twilight car ; There angels dwell, so pure of form. That each appears a living star ^ ! These are the sprites, oh radiant queen ! Thou send'st so often to the bed Of her I love, with spell unseen. Thy planet's brightning balm to shed ; To make the eye's enchantment clearer, To give the cheek one rose-bud more. And bid that flashing lip be dearer. Which had been, oh ! too dear before ! But, whither means the muse to roam? 'Tis time to call the wanderer home . Who could have ever thought to search her Up in the clouds with Father Kircher? such being, according to astrologers, the " vis influxiva" of Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks "Whether baptism may be performed with the water of Venus?" — "An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui possit ?" to which the Genius answers, " Certainly." * This idea is Father Kircher's. " Tot animatos soles dixisses." Itinerar. 1. Dial. 1. Cap. 5. 64 So, health and love to all your mansion Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in^ The flow of heart, the soul's expansion, Mirth and song your board illumine ! Fare you well — remember too, When cups are flowing to the brim, That here is one who drinks to you. And oh ! — as warmly drink to him. POSTSCRIPT. When next you see the black-ey'd Caty, The loving, languid girl of Hayti ^, Whose finger so expertly plays Amid the ribbon's silken maze, Just like Aurora, when she ties A rainbow round the morning skies ! ® Among the West-Indian French at Norfolk, there are some very interesting Saint-Domingo girls, who in the day sell millinery, &c. and at night assemble in little cotillon parties, where they dance away the remembrance of their unfor- tunate country, and forget the miseries which " Les amis des noirs" brought upon them. 65 Say, that I hope, when winter's o'er. On Norfolk's bank again to rove, And then, shall search the ribbon-store For some of Caty's softest hve. I should not like the gloss were past, Yet want it not entirely new ; But bright and strong enough to last About — suppose a week or two. However frail, however light. Twill do, at least, to wear at night: And so you'll tell our black-ey'd Caty, The loving, languid girl of Hayti ! 66 THE WEDDING RING. TO 1801. No — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring ; Oh ! think, how many a future year, Of placid smile and downy wing. May sleep within its holy sphere ! Do not disturh their tranquil dream. Though love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd, Yet heav'n will send a soothing beam, To bless the bond itself hath form'd. But then, that eye, that burning eye ! Oh ! it doth ask, with magic power. If heaven can ever bless the tie. Where love inwreathes no genial flower ! 67 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 mine ! Yet stay, dear love — one effort yet — A moment turn those eyes away, And let me, if I can, forget The light that leads my soul astray ! Thou say'st, that we were born to meet. That our hearts bear one common seal. 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 : 68 The sympathy I then betray'd. Perhaps was but the child of art ; The guile of one, who long hath play'd 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 live till now, With loveless heart or senses cold ? No — many a throb of bliss and pain, For many a maid my soul hath prov'd ; With some I wanton'd wild and vain, While some I truly, dearly lov'd ! 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. 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. 69 Enough — now, turn thine eyes again ; What, still that look and still that sigh ! Dost thou not feel my counsel then? Oh ! no, beloved ! — nor do I. 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 so ! Did we not love so true, so dear. This lapse could never be forgiven ; But hearts so fond and lips so near — Give me the ring, and now — Oh heaven ! 70 LYING. CHB CON LE LOU BUGIE PAJON DIVINI. Mauro d'Arcano I DO confess, in many a sigh My lips have breath'd you many a lie. And who, with such delights in view. Would lose them, for a lie or two 1 Nay — look not thus, with brow reproving ; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving ! If half we tell the girls were true. If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion. The world would be in strange confusion ! If ladies' eyes were, every one, As lovers swear, a radiant sun. Astronomy should leave the skies. To learn her lore in ladies' eyes ! 71 Oh no ! — believe me, lovely girl, When nature turns your teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire. Your yellow^ locks to golden wire, Then, only then, can heaven decree. That you should live for only me. Or I for you, as night and morn. We've swearing kist, and kissing sworn ! And now, my gentle hints to clear. For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear ! Whenever you may chance to meet A loving youth, whose love is sweet, Long as you're false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you. So long the blissful bond endures ; And while he lies, his heart is your's : But oh ! you've wholly lost the youth,. The instant that he tells you truth ! 72 TO ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE \^IL AND A RICH GIRDLE. Put off the vestal veil, nor oh ! Let vs^eeping angels view^ it ; Your cheeks belie its virgin snow, And blush repenting through it. Put off the fatal zone you vv^ear ; The lucid gems around it Are tears, that fell from Virtue there. The hour that Love unbound it. 73 THE RESEMBLANCE. • vo cercand' io Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui La desiata vostra forma vera. Petbarc. Soneit. 14. Yes, if 'twere any common love, That led my pliant heart astray, I grant, there's not a power above Could wipe the faithless crime away ! 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 charm'd my soul to sin ! 74 Your eyes ! — the eyes of languid doves Were never half so like each other ! The glances of the baby loves Resemble less their w^arm-ey'd mother ! Her lip ! — oh, call me not false-hearted. When such a lip I fondly prest ; 'Twas Love some melting cherry parted. Gave thee half and her the rest I And when, with all thy murmuring tone, They sued half-open to be kist, I could as soon resist thine own. And them, heaven knows ! I ne'er resist. Then, scorn me not, though false I be, 'Twas love that wak'd the dear excess ; My heart had been more true to thee. Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less ! 75 TO Vv HEN I lov'd you, I can't }3ut allow I had many an exquisite minute ; But the scorn that I feel for you now Hath even more luxury in it ! Thus, whether we're on or we're off, Some witchery seems to await you ; To love you is pleasant enough. And oh ! 'tis delicious to hate you ! 76 FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER- JriLL 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. 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 ! 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