Raising its amorous head
To kiss so exquisite a tread,
Check'd thy impatient pace!

And all heaven's host of eyes

Saw those luxuriant beauties sink

in lapse of loveliness, along the azure skies!
Upon whose starry plain they lay,

Like a young blossom on our meads of gold,
Shed from a vernal thorn

Amid the liquid sparkles of the morn!
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade,
The myrtled votaries of the queen behold
An image of their rosy idol, laid

Upon a diamond shrine!

Who was the spirit that remember'd Man
In that exciting hour?

And with a wing of Love

Brush'd off the scatter'd tear,
As o'er the spangled heaven they ran,
And sent them floating to our orb below?*
Essence of immortality!
The shower

Fell glowing through the spheres,
While all around new tints of bliss,
New perfumes of delight,
Enrich'd its radiant flow!

Now, with a humid kiss,

It thrill'd along the beamy wire
Of Heaven's illumin❜d lyre,t

Stealing the soul of Music in its flight!
And now, amid the breezes bland,

That whisper from the planets as they roll,
The bright libation, softly fann'd

By all their sighs, meandering stole!
They who, from Atlas' height,

Beheld the rill of flame

Descending through the waste of night,
Thought 'twas a planet, whose stupendous frame
Had kindled, as it rapidly revolv'd

Around its fervid axle, and dissolv'd

Into a flood so bright!

The child of day,

Within his twilight bower,

* In the "Geoponica," lib. ii. cap. 17, there is a fable somewhat like this descent of the nectar to earth.

+ The constellation Lyra. The astrologers attribute great virtues to this sign in the ascendant

Lay sweetly sleeping

On the flush'd bosom of a lotus-flower ;*
When round him, in profusion weeping,
Dropp'd the celestial shower,

Steeping

The rosy clouds, that curl'd
About his infant head,

Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid shed!
But, when the waking boy

Wav'd his exhaling tresses through the sky.
O morn of joy!

The tide divine,

All glittering with the vermil dye
It drank beneath his orient eye,
Distill'd, in dews, upon the world,

And every drop was wine, was heavenly wine!
Blest be the sod, the flow'ret blest,

That caught, upon their hallow'd breast,
The nectar'd spray of Jove's perennial springs!
Less sweet the flow'ret, and less sweet the sod,
O'er which the spirit of the rainbow flings
The magic mantle of her solar god !+

ANACREONTIC.

SHE never look'd so kind before-
Yet why the melting smile recal?
I've seen this witchery o'er and o'er,
'Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all!"
Thus I said, and, sighing, sipp'd

The wine which she had lately tasted;
The cup, where she had lately dipp'd
Breath, so long in falsehood wasted.
I took the harp, and would have sung
As if 'twere not of her I sang;
But still the notes on Lamia hung-

On whom but Lamia could they hang?
That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine,
A world for every kiss I'd give her;

*The Egyptians represented the dawn of day by a young boy seated upon a lotus.

The ancients esteemed those flowers and trees the sweetest upo which the rainbow had appeared to rest; and the wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices was that which the smile of Iris had consecrated.

Those floating oyes, that floating shine
Like diamonds in an eastern river!

That mould so fine, so pearly bright,

Of which luxurious Heaven hath cast her,
Through which her soul doth beam as white
As flame through lamps of alabaster!
Of these I sung, and notes and words
Were sweet, as if 'twas Lamia's hair
That lay upon my lute for chords,

And Lamia's lip that warbled there!
But when, alas! I turn'd the theme,
And when of vows and oaths I spoke,
Of truth and hope's beguiling dream-
The chord beneath my finger broke
And when that thrill is most awake,

And when you think heaven's joys await you,
The nymph will change, the chord will break-
Oh Love! oh Music! how I hate you'

TO MRS

ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARACTER.

Is not thy mind a gentle mind?

Is not thy heart a heart refin'd?

Hast thou not every blameless grace,

That man should love or Heaven can trace?

And oh art thou a shrine for sin

To hold her hateful worship in?

No, no, be happy-dry that tear

Though some thy heart hath harbour'd near

May now repay its love with blame;

Though man, who ought to shield thy fame,

Ungenerous man be first to wound thee;

Though the whole world may freeze around thee,

Oh! thou'lt be like.that lucid tear*

Which, bright, within the crystal's sphere

In liquid purity was found,

Though all had grown congeal'd around;

Floating in frost, it mock'd the chill,

Was pure, was soft, was brilliant still!

This alludes to a curious gem-a drop of pure water enclosed within a

piece of crystal.-See Claudian.

HYMN OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI

AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER.

OH! lost, for ever lost!-no more
Shall Vesper light our dewy way
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore,
To hymn the fading fires of day!
No more to Tempé's distant vale

In holy musings shall we roam,
Through summer's glow and winter's gale,
To bear the mystic chaplets home!*
'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal,
By Nature warm'd, and led by thee,
In every breeze was taught to feel
The breathings of a deity!

Guide of my heart! to memory true,

Thy looks, thy words, are still my own

I see thee raising from the dew,

Some laurel, by the wind o'erthrown,
And hear thee say, "This humble bough
Was planted for a doom divine,
And, though it weep in languor now,
Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine!
Thus, in the vale of earthly sense,

Though sunk awhile the spirit lies.
A viewless hand shall cull it thence,
To bloom immortal in the skies!"
Thy words had such a melting flow,

And spoke of truth so sweetly well,
They dropp'd like Heaven's serenest snow,
And all was brightness where they fell
Fond soother of my infant tear!
Fond sharer of my infant joy!

Is not thy shade still lingering here?
Am I not still thy soul's employ?
And oh! as oft, at close of day

When, meeting on the sacred mount,
Our nymphs awak'd the choral lay,
And danc'd around Cassotis' fount;
As then, 'twas all thy wish and care,

That mine should be the simplest mien,

Upon all important occasions, they sent to Tempé for their laurel We find, in Pausanias, that this valley supplied the branches of which the temple was originally constructed; and Plutarch says, in his Dialogue on Music, "The youth who brings the Tempic laurel to Delphi is always at tended by a player on the flute.'

My lyre and voice the sweetest there,
My foot the lightest o'er the green:
So still, each little grace to mould,
Around my form thine eyes are shed.
Arranging every snowy fold,

And guiding every mazy tread!
And, when I lead the hymning choir
Thy spirit still, unseen and free,
Hovers between my lip and lyre.
And weds them into harmony!
Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave
Shall never drop its silv'ry tear
Upon so pure, so blest a grave,
To memory so divinely dear!

TO MISS SUSAN BECKFORD,

ON HER SINGING.

I MORE than once have heard, at night,
A song, like those thy lips have given,
And it was sung by shapes of light,

Who seem'd like thee, to breathe of heaven

But this was all a dream of sleep,

And I have said, when morning shone, "Oh! why should fairy Fancy keep These wonders for herself alone?"

I knew not then that fate had lent
Such tones to one of mortal birth;
I knew not then that Heaven had sent
A voice, a form like thine on earth!

And yet, in all that flowery maze

Through which my life has lov'd to tread

When I have heard the sweetest lays

From lips of dearest lustre shed;

When I have felt the warbled word

From beauty's mouth of perfume sighing,

Sweet as music's hallow'd bird

Upon a rose's bosom lying!

Though form and song at once combin'd

Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill. My heart hath sigh'd, my heart hath pin'd, For something softer, lovelier still'