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Glided along the festal ring

With vases, all respiring spring,

Where roses lay, in languor breathing,

And the young bee-grape, round them wreathing, Hung on their blushes warm and meek,

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Oh, NEA! why did morning break

The spell that so divinely bound me ? Why did I wake? how could I wake,

With thee my own and Heaven around me!

WELL-peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me! To-morrow, I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps, I may yet Its seduction forgive and its splendour forget! Farewell to Bermuda, † and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;

* Apiana, mentioned by PLINY, lib. xiv. and “now called the Muscatell (a muscarum telis)," says PANCIROLLUS, book i. sect. 1. chap. 17.

+ The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written

May spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd!
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to

roam

Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy home,

Where oft, when the dance and the revel were

done,

And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to
say-

Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vex'd
Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur
to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the
discoverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have
been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, who
about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth cen-
tury), was sent Patriarch of the Latin Church to Ethiopia,
and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and
the Griffins which he encountered.-Travels of the Jesuits,
vol. I.
I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch
rather too much out of his way.

* JOHNSON does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda; but the Account of the European Settlements in America affirms it confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this work, however, less for its authority, than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke.

Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes!

If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,

I would not let a foot come near
My land of bliss, my fairy ground!

If I were yonder couch of gold,

And thou the pearl within it placed, I would not let an eye behold

The sacred gem my arms embraced!

If I were yonder orange-tree,

And thou the blossom blooming there,
I would not yield a breath of thee,
To scent the most imploring air!

Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink,

Give not the wave that rosy sigh, Nor let its burning mirror drink

The soft reflection of thine eye.

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek,
Upon the billows pour their beam

So warmly, that my soul could seek
Its NEA in the painted stream.

The painted stream my chilly grave
And nuptial bed at once may be,
I'll wed thee in that mimic wave,
And die upon the shade of thee!

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending
O'er the waters blue and bright,
Like NEA's silky lashes, lending
Shadow to her eyes of light!

Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn,
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes,

In every star thy glances burn,

Thy blush on every flow'ret lies.

But then thy breath!—not all the fire
That lights the lone Semenda's * death
In eastern climes, could e'er respire
An odour like thy dulcet breath!

* Referunt tamen quidam in interiore India avem esse, nomine Semendam, etc. CARDAN. 10 de Subtilitat. CESAR SCALIGER seems to think Semenda but another name for the Phoenix. Exercitat. 233.

VOL. II.

5

I pray thee, on those lips of thine
To wear this leaf for me,

rosy

And breathe of something not divine,

Since nothing human breathes of thee!

All other charms of thine I meet

In nature, but thy sigh alone;

Then take, oh! take, though not so sweet,
The breath of roses for thine own!

So, while I walk the flowery grove,

The bud that gives, through morning dew,

The lustre of the lips I love,

May seem to give their perfume too!

ON SEEING

AN INFANT IN NEA'S ARMS.

THE first ambrosial child of bliss

That Psyche to her bosom press'd, Was not a brighter babe than this, Nor blush'd upon a lovelier breast! His little snow-white fingers, straying Along her lip's luxuriant flower,

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