The other's eye, entranced as much, Too wildly charm'd, I would have fled- "If true my counting pulses beat, "It must be now almost the hour "When Love, with visitation sweet, "Descends upon our bloomy bower. "And with him from the sky he brings "Our sister-nymph who dwells above"Oh! never may she haunt these springs "With any other god but Love! "When he illumes her magic urn, 66 "And sheds his own enchantments in it, Though but a minute's space it burn, ""Tis Heaven to breathe it but a minute! "Not all the purest power we boast, "Nor silken touch, nor vernal dye, "Nor music, when it thrills the most, "Nor balmy cup, nor perfume's sigh, "Such transport to the soul can give, "Though felt till time itself shall wither, "As in that one dear moment live, "When Love conducts our sister hither!" She ceased the air respired of bliss- Declared the melting power was nigh! I saw them come-the nymph and boy, While all her sisters languish'd round! A sigh from every bosom broke- THE STEERSMAN'S SONG. WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE, 28TH april.* WHEN freshly blows the northern gale, And royals proudly sweep the sky; Port, my boy! port. When calms delay, or breezes blow Right from the point we wish to steer; My bliss with one that's far away, * I left Bermuda in the Boston, about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise proceeded to New York. And while remembrance springs to her, Thus, my boy! thus. But see the wind draws kindly aft, Our stately ship through waves and air. Some breeze of Fortune thus may spring, Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee! And in that hope I smiling sing, Steady, boy! so. TO CLOE. IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. I COULD resign that eye of blue, Howe'er it burn, howe'er it thrill me; That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, And though your bosom beat with bliss, In short, I've learn'd so well to fast, TO THE FIRE-FLY.* THIS morning, when the earth and sky Nor thought upon thy gleaming wing. But now the skies have lost their hue, For sparkling o'er the dreary way. * The lively and varying illumination, with which these fire-flies light up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. "Puis ces mouches se développant de l'obscurité de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voyions sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettaient tout en feu, nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dorés que la nuit avait ravie,” etc. etc.—See l'Histoire des Antilles, art. 2. chap. 4. liv. 1. |