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,
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,

*

3

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!
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,t
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers,

And, scowling at this heav'n of light,

Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th Carmen of this Poet:

Jam mens prætrepidans avet vagari,

Jam læti studio pedes vigescunt!

† Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which the island derives its name. It is said by some to be as high as the peak of Teneriffe.

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;
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, who in their ladies' laps
May cradle every wish to rest,)
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul,
Those madrigals, of breath divine,

Which Camoëns' 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!

* 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.

But, hark!-the boatswain's pipings tell
'Tis time to bid my dream farewel :
Eight bells!the middle watch is set ;
Good night, my STRANGFORD!-ne'er forget
That, far beyond the Western Sea
Is one, whose heart remembers thee!

A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the West,

The storms of the morning pursu'd us no more, And the wave, while it welcom'd 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 known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I!

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 prayed of that Spirit, who lighted the flame,
That pleasure no more might its purity dim;
And that sullied but little, or brightly the same,

I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from him!

The thought was ecstatic! 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 exclaim'd, " can a heavenly eye

"Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!"