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 look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky
Which morning had clouded, was clouded no more—
"Oh! thus," I exclaimed, "can a heavenly Eye
Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!"*

A BALLAD.

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.

Written at Norfolk, in Virginia.

"THEY 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,t Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

Psalm iv. 6.-Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.

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 Drummond's Pond.

"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall sec,
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 eye-lids 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 stirred 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 ?"

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 hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the 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!

LYING.

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?

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!

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!

a

TO

WHEN I lov'd you, I can't but 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!

WELL-PEACE TO THY HEART.

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 groves,*
Where nightly the ghost of the Caribee roves,
And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps I may yet
Its seduction forgive, and its splendour forget!

* When I wrote these lines, I had some idea of leaving Bermuda, and visiting the West-India islands.

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 produc tions 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.

The women of Bermuda, though not generally handsome, have an affectionate languor in their look and man. ner, which is always interesting. What the French imply by their epithet aimante seems very much the character of the young Bermudan girls-that predisposition to lov. ing, which, without being awakened by any particular object, diffuses itself through the general manner, in a tone of tenderness, which never fails to fascinate. men of the island, I confess, are not very civilized; and the old philosophers, who imagined that, after this life, men would be changed into mules and women into turtledoves, would find the metamorphosis in one degree an ticipated at Bermuda.

The