Sweeten the breeze, and mingling swim Give me the wreath that withers there, And caught her eyes' reflected light! Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow; It breaths of Heliodora now! The loving rose-bud drops a tear, Oh! most to him, Whose lip hath drained life's cup of Yes-he can smile serene at death: Kind Heaven! do thou but chase the weeping Of friends who love him; Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping, Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath No more shall move him. LINES. WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. THAT Sky of clouds is not the sky To light a lover to the pillow Of her he loves The swell of yonder foaming billow, That rapture moves. Yet do I feel more tranquil now Than when, in transport's young emotion, I've stolen, beneath the evening star, Oh! there's a holy calm profound Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, row No more shall wake the heart or eye, To whom thy sleep would be a trea sure: Now float before me, soft and bright As when they first enamouring shone' How many hours of idle waste, Within those witching arms embraced, Unmindful of the fleeting day, Have I dissolved life's dream away! O bloom of time profusely shed! O moments! simply, vainly fled, You read it in my languid eyes, And there alone should love be read; You hear me say it all in sighs, And thus alone should love be said. Then dread no more; I will not speak ; Although my heart to anguish thrill, I'll spare the burning of your cheek, And look it all in silence still! Heard you the wish I dared to name To murmur on that luckless night, When passion broke the bonds of shame, And love grew madness in your sight? Divinely through the graceful dance, You seemed to float in silent song, Bending to earth that beamy glance, As if to light your steps along! Oh how could others dare to touch That hallowed form with hand so free, And saw the vestal planet weep Her tears of light on Ariel's flood. My heart was full of Fancy's dream, Entangling in its net of smiles And as I watched the playful stream, So fair a group of elfin isles, I felt as if the scenery there Were lighted by a Grecian skyAs if I breathed the blissful air That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh! And now the downy hand of rest To polish Virtue's native brightness, Just as the beak of playful doves Can give to pearls a smoother white. ness !2 'Twas one of those delicious nights So common in the climes of Greece, When day withdraws but half its lights, And all is moonshine, balm, and peace! And thou wert there, my own beloved! And dearly by thy side I roved Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where beauty blushed and wisdom taught, Where lovers sighed and sages thought, Where hearts might feel or heads dis Where all that bard has ever dreamed Of love or luxury bloomed around! And scented and illumed the bowers, to roam When it has left this world behind, And gone to seek its heavenly home! And, Nea, thou didst look and move, Like any blooming soul of bliss, That wanders to its home above Through mild and shadowy light like this! But now, methought, we stole along Through halls of more voluptuous glory Than ever lived in Teian song, Or wantoned in Milesian story!1 And nymph were there, whose very eyes Seemed almost to exhale in sighs; Whose every little ringlet thrilled, As if with soul and passion filled! Some flew, with amber cups, around, Shedding the flowery wines of Crete, And, as they passed with youthful bound, The onyx shone beneath their feet !3 The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Plutarch (in Crasso), who calls them ακολαστα βιβλία. 'Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls ovos avboσuias, from their fragrancy resembling that of the finest flowers.'-Barry on Wines, chap. vii. It appears that, in very splendid mansions, the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial: Calcatusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx.'-Epig. 50, lib. xii. • Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament among the omen of antiquity. Oi emiкapmioι ορεις και αἱ χρυσαι πεδαι Θαιδος και Αρισταγόρας και Λαίδος φαρμακα, Philostrat. epis. xl. Lucian, too, tells of the Spaxioiσi ôpakovтes. While others, waving arms of snow Entwined by snakes of burnished gold,4 And showing limbs, as loth to sh Through many a thin Tarentia foll. 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, Like curls upon a rosy cheek! 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! See his Amores, where he describes the dressingroom of a Grecian lady, and we find the silver vase,' the rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the mystic order of a modern toilet. The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words 'still-vexed 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 century) 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. |