I FOUND her not-the chamber seem'd

Like some divinely haunted place, Where fairy forms had lately beam'd, And left behind their odorous trace!

It felt as if her lips had shed

A sigh around her ere she fled,
Which hung, as on a melting lute,
When all the silver chords are mute,
There lingers still a trembling breath
After the note's luxurious death,
A shade of song, a spirit air

Of melodies which had been there!

I saw the web, which all the day

Had floated o'er her cheek of rose;
I saw the couch, where late she lay
In languor of divine repose!

And I could trace the hallow'd print
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm,
As if 'twere done in Rapture's mint,

And love himself had stamp'd the form.
Oh NEA! NEA! where wert thou?
In pity fly not thus from me;
Thou art my life, my essence now,

And my soul dies of wanting thee!

A KISS A L'ANTIQUE.

BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem
Within this simple ring of gold;
'Tis hallow'd by the touch of them
Who liv'd in classic hours of old.

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps,

Upon her hand this gem display'd,
Nor thought that Time's eternal lapse
Should see it grace a lovelier maid.

Look, darling, what a sweet design!
The more we gaze, it charms the more:
Come closer bring that cheek to mine,
And trace with me its beauties o'er.

Thou see'st, it is a simple youth,

By some enamour'd nymph embrac❜d-
Look, NEA, love! and say, in sooth,
Is not her hand most dearly plac'd?

Upon his curled head behind

It seems in careless play to lie;*
Yet

presses gently, half inclin'd

To bring his lip of nectar nigh! ;

* Somewhat like the fine Symplegma of Cupid and Psyche at Florence, in which the position of Psyche's hand is most

O happy maid! too happy boy!
The one so fond and faintly 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 cold 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 hair behind;

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

And thus I kiss thee-O my love!

beautifully affectionate. See the Museum Florentinum, Tom. ii, Tab. 43, 44. I know of very few subjects in which poetry could be more interestingly employed, than in illustrating some of the ancient statues and gems.

...........λιβανοτω είκασεν, ότι απολλυμένον ευφραινει. ARISTOT. Rhetor. Lib. iii, Cap. 4.

THERE's not a look, a word of thine

My soul hath e'er forgot;

Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,
Which I remember not.

There never yet a murmur fell
From that beguiling tongue,
Which did not, with a lingering spell,
Upon my charmed senses dwell,

Like something heaven had sung.

Ah! that I could, at once, forget
All, all that haunts me so-

And yet, thou witching girl!—and yet,
To die were sweeter, than to let
The lov'd remembrance go.

No; if this slighted heart must see
Its faithful pulse decay,

Oh! let it die, remembering thee,

And, like the burnt aroma, be

Consum'd in sweets away.

I

EPISTLE V.

ΤΟ

JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ

From Bermuda.

March.

"THE day-light is gone-but, before we depart, "Here's a brimmer of love to the friend of my heart, "To the friend who himself is a chalice, a bowl "In which heaven hath pour'd a rich bumper of soul!"

'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash-tree, With a few, who could feel and remember like me, The charm, that to sweeten my goblet I threw, Was a sigh to the past, and a blessing on you!

Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour

Of wine and of wit, when the heart is in flower,
And shoots 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,