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, 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, 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, Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vex'd * 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, I would not let a foot come near 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, 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, So warmly, that my soul could seek The painted stream my chilly grave Behold the leafy mangrove, bending Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn, In every star thy glances burn, Thy blush on every flow'ret lies. But then thy breath!—not all the fire * 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 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, 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, |