Mingling their beams

In a soft iris of harmonious light,

Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams!

EPISTLE IV.

ΤΟ

GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ.

OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.*

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.

ΚΕΙΝΗ ΔΗΝΕΜΟΕΣΣΑ ΚΑΙ ΑΤΡΟΠΟΣ, ΟΙΑ Θ'ΑΛΙΠΛΗΞ, ΑΙΘΥΙΗΣ ΚΑΙ ΜΑΛΛΟΝ ΕΠΙΔΡΟΜΟΣ ΗΕΠΕΡ ΙΠΠΟΙΣ, ΠΟΝΤΩ ΕΝΕΣΤΗΡΙΚΤΑΙ.

CALLIMACH. Hymn. in Del. v. 11.

OH what a tempest whirl'd us hither! †
Winds, whose savage breath could wither

*This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere, but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some of the kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to atone to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few instances of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved by the Americans. His house is the very temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger who, warm from the welcome of such a board, and with the taste of such Madeira still upon his lips, "col dolce in bocca," could sit down to write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a modern philosophist. See the Travels of the DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULT LIANCOURT, vol. 2.

+ We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, was built at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by my very regretted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was

All the light and languid flowers

That bloom in Epicurus' bowers!

Yet think not, George, that Fancy's charm
Forsook me in this rude alarm.

When close they reef'd the timid sail,
When, every plank complaining loud,
We labour'd in the midnight gale,
And even our haughty main-mast bow'd!
The muse, in that unlovely hour,
Benignly brought her soothing power,
And, 'midst the war of waves and wind,
In song's elysian lapp'd my mind!

She open'd, with her golden key,

The casket where my memory lays

Those little gems of poesy,

Which time has saved from ancient days!

Take one of these, to LAIS sung,

I wrote it while my hammock swung,
As one might write a dissertation
Upon "suspended animation !”

killed aboard the Lilly, in an action with a French privateer. Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in the service; so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well manned merchantman was at any time a match for her.