"Than when in love's unholier prank, "A mystery, more divinely warm'd Happy the maid, whom Heaven allows Oh, virgin! what a doom is thine! *FONTENELLE, in his playful rifacimento of the learned materials of Van-Dale, has related in his own inimitable manner an adventure of this kind which was detected and exposed at Alexandria. See l'Histoire des Oracles, seconde dissertat. chap. vii. CREBILLON, too, in one of his most amusing little stories, has made the Génie Mange-Taupes, of the Isle Jonquille, assert this privilege of spiritual beings in a manner very formidable to the husbands of the island. He says, however, “Les maris ont le plaisir de rester toujours dans le doute; en pareil cas, c'est une ressource." In every kiss shall stamp on thee Fly to the cave, Aphelia, fly; There lose the world and wed the sky! There all the boundless rapture steal Which gods can give or woman feel! WOMAN. AWAY, away-you're all the same, To think I've been your slave so long! Slow to be warm'd and quick to rove, From folly kind, from cunning loath, Too cold for bliss, too weak for love, Yet feigning all that's best in both. Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, More joy it gives to woman's breast To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, Than one true, manly lover blest! Away, away,-your smile's a curse Oh! blot me from the race of men, Kind pitying Heaven! by death or worse, Before I love such things again! BALLAD STANZAS. I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, “ if there's peace to be found in the world, "A heart that was humble might hope for it here!" It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around In silence reposed the voluptuous bee; Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound But the wood-pecker tapping the hollow beech tree. And "Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd, “With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, "Who would blush when I praised her, and weep 66 if I blamed, "How bless'd could I live, and how calm could I die! By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips "In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, "And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, "Which had never been sigh'd on by any mine!" but ΤΟ ΝΟΣΕΙ ΤΑ ΦΙΛΤΑΤΑ. EURIPIDES. 1803. COME, take the harp-'tis vain to muse All thoughts of ill in hearing thee! Sing to me, Love! though death were near, Thy song could make my soul forgetNay, nay, in pity, dry that tear, All may be well, be happy yet! Once more upon the dear harp lie, And I will cease to dream of harm, Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh! Give me that strain, of mournful touch, Before our hearts had known as much Sweet notes! they tell of former peace, Art thou too wretched? yes, thou art; I see thy tears flow fast with mine— Come, come to this devoted heart, 'Tis breaking, but it still is thine! |