I felt, -so strongly fancy's power
Came o'er me in that witching hour,—
As if the whole bright scenery there
Were lighted by a Grecian sky,
And I then breath'd the blissful air

That late had thrill'd to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dreamt I,— and when Sleep Came o'er my sense, the dream went on; Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, Hath ever lovelier vision shone.

1

I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade, 1
Where Epicurus taught the Loves

To polish virtue's native brightness, —
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves
Have play'd with, wear a smoother whiteness.2
'Twas 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 belov'd, And by thy side I fondly rov'd Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, And sages sigh'd and lovers thought; Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern, But all was form'd to soothe or move, To make the dullest love to learn,

To make the coldest learn to love.

And now the fairy pathway seem'd

To lead us through enchanted ground,
Where all that bard has ever dream'd

Of love or luxury bloom'd around.
Oh! 'twas a bright, bewild'ring scene-
Along the alley's deep'ning green
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illum'd the bowers,
Seem'd, 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. 3
"Twas light of that mysterious kind,

Through which the soul perchance may roam, When it has left this world behind,

And, Nea, thou wert by my side,
Through all this heav'n-ward path my guide.

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we rang'd
That upward path, the vision chang'd;
And now, methought, we stole along

Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever liv'd in Teian song,

Or wanton'd in Milesian story. 1

And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs;
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd,
A mute appeal to passion breath'd.
Some flew, with amber cups, around,

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete; *
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet.3
While others, waving arms of snow

Entwin'd by snakes of burnish'd gold, 4
And showing charms, as loth to show,

Through many a thin Tarentian fold, 5
Glided among the festal throng
Bearing rich urns of flowers along.

Where roses lay, in languor breathing,

And the young beegrape, round them wreathing,
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek.

Oh, Nea! why did morning break

The spell that thus divinely bound me ? Why did I wake? how could I wake

With thee my own and heaven around me!

WELL-peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for me!

1 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 anoλaora Biblia.

2. Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls over asferuas, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers. Barry on Wines, chap. vii.

3 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.

4 Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament among the women of antiquity. Οι επικαρπιοι όφεις και αἱ χρυσαι πεδαι θαίδος και Αρισταγόρας και Λαίδος φαρμακα.-Philostrat. Epist. xl. Lucían, too, tells us of the Beaxiaoi deaxovres. See his Amores, where he describes the dressing-room of a Grecian lady, and we find the "silver vase," the rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the "mystic order" of a modern toilet.

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, 7 Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget.

Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd.
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to

roam

Through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy | home,

Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to

say

Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes.

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 plac'd,

I would not let an eye behold
The sacred gem my arms embrac'd.

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.

the Muscatell (a muscarum telis)," says Pancirollus, book i. sect. 1. chap. 17.

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

8 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vex'd 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. I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch rather too much out of his way.

9 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda ; but the "Account of the European Settlements in America"

6 Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and "now called

less for its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke.

Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse Should see it grace a lovelier maid.

Just where the margin's op'ning shade

A vista from the waters made,
My bird repos'd his silver plume
Upon a rich banana's bloom.

Oh vision bright! oh spirit fair!

What spell, what magic rais'd her there?
"Twas Nea! slumb'ring calm and mild,
And bloomy as the dimpled child,
Whose spirit in elysium keeps
Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps.

The broad banana's green embrace Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace; One little beam alone could win The leaves to let it wander in, And, stealing over all her charms, From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, New lustre to each beauty lent,Itself all trembling as it went!

Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge Mix'd with its shade, like evening's light Just touching on the verge of night. Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, Seem'd glowing through the ivory lid, And, as I thought, a lustre threw Upon her lip's reflecting dew,Such as a night-lamp, left to shine Alone on some secluded shrine, May shed upon the votive wreath, Which pious hands have hung beneath.

Was ever vision half so sweet! Think, think how quick my heart-pulse beat, As o'er the rustling bank I stole ;Oh! ye, that know the lover's soul, It is for you alone to guess,

That moment's trembling happiness.

Thou seest, it is a simple youth

By some enamour'd nymph embrac'dLook, as she leans, and say in sooth, Is not that hand most fondly plac'd?

Upon his curled head behind

It seems in careless play to lie, Yet presses gently, half inclin'd

To bring the truant's lip more nigh.

Oh happy maid! too happy boy!

The one so fond and little loath, The other yielding slow to joy — Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. Imagine, love, that I am he,

And just as warm as he is chilling; Imagine, too, that thou art she,

But quite as coy as she is willing:

So may we try the graceful way

In which their gentle arms are twin'd,
And thus, like her, my hand I lay
Upon thy wreathed locks behind:

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet,
As slow to mine thy head I move;

And thus our lips together meet,

And thus, and thus, I kiss thee, love.

Oh! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, When friends are assembled, when wit, in full flower,

Shoots forth from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new —
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair,
And would pine in elysium, if friends were not
there!

Last night, when we came from the Calabash

Tree,

When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free,
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day
Set the magical springs of my fancy in play,
And oh, such a vision has 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,
But never till now so beloved and dear,

At the call of my fancy, surrounded me here;
And soon,
- oh, at once, did the light of their smiles
To a paradise brighten this region of isles;
More lucid the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd,
And brighter the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd.
Not the valleys Heræan (though water'd by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills, ?
Where the Song of the Shepherd, primeval and wild,
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child,)
Could boast such a lustre o'er land and o'er wave
As the magic of love to this paradise gave.

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 combron 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 ; lan 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 us les speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was governor of the island some years since, proposed, if I mistake not, the esta

blishment 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 favourable 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 civilised; 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.

2 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the nymphs. See the lively description of these mountains in Diodorus Siculus, lib. iv. Ηραία γαρ ορη κατά την Σικελίαν εστιν, ά φασι καλλο,

x. T. λ.