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THE GENIUS OF HARMONY.
AN IRREGULAR ODE.
Ad harmoniam canere mundum.
Cicero, de Nat. Deor. lib. iii,
TIERE lies a shell beneath the waves,
Such as of old
This magic shell
Of those entrancing airs
And, if the power
Go, bring the bright shell to my bower,
And thou shalt own
From the pellucid tides that whirl
From the rich sigh
On Afric's burning fields;
Welcome, welcome, mystic shell !
Many a tear has Saturn's urn
Since thy aërial spell
Hath in the waters slept !
Where she who waked its early swell,
The Siren, with a foot of fire,
Or guides around the burning pole
Beneath Hispania's sun
Thou'lt see a streamlet run
Listen !-when the night-wind dies
There, by that wondrous stream,
Go, lay thy languid brow,
Sat on the chil Pangxan mount,
And, looking to the orient dim,
From which his soul hadi drunk its fire!
Stole o'er his musing breast !
What pious ecstacy
Whose seal upon this worth impressed
Or dost thou know what dreams I wove
His spirit flew through fields alove,
Mingling their beams
O mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams !
TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ.,
OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA. *
From Bermuda, January, 1804.
Callimach. Hymn, in Del. O. IL
When, every plank complaining loud,
And e'en our haughty main-mast bowed !
The casket where my memory lays
Which time has saved from ancient days!
SWEETLY you kiss, my Lais dear!
* 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 Duc de la Rochefoucault Liancourt, vol. ii.
† 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.
Your hair along my bosom spread,
Such, while in air I floating hung,
Such was the strain, Morgante mio! The muse and I together sung,
With Boreas to make out the trio.
But, bless the little fairy isle!
How sweetly, after all our ills, We saw the dewy morning smile
Serenely o'er its fragrant hills ! And felt the pure, elastic flow Of airs that round this Eden blow, With honey freshness, caught by stealth, Warm from the very lips of health !
Oh! could you view the scenery dear
That now beneath my window lies, You'd think that Nature lavished here
Her purest wave, her softest skies, To make a heaven for love to sigh in, For bards to live and saints to die in! Close to my wooded bank below,
In glassy calm the waters sleep, And to the sun-beam proudly show
The coral rocks they love to steep! The fainting breeze of morning fails.
The drowsy boat moves slowly past,
That languish idly round the mast.
So pictured o'er the waters lie
To fleet along a burning sky!
Oh! for the boat the angel gave
To him who, in his heavenward flight,
To planet-isles of odorous light !
That pant around thy twilight car;
That each appears a living star !
Thou send'st so often to the bed
Thy planet's brightening balm to shed ;
To give the cheek one rosebud more,
Which had been oh! too dear before!
Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in.
Mirth and song your board illumine!
When cups are flowing to the brim,
And oh !—as warmly drink to him.
No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring;
Oh! think, how many a future year. Of placid smile and downy wing,
May sleep within its holy sphere ! Do not disturb their tranquil dream;
Though love hath ne'er the mystery warmed, Yet Heaven will shed a soothing beam,
To bliss the bond itself hath formed. But then, that eye, that burning eye !
Oh! it doth ask, with magic power, If Heaven can ever bless the tie
Where love inwreathes no genial flower ! Away, away, bewildering look!
Or all the boast of virtue's o'er ; Go-hie thee to the sage's book,
And learn from him to feel no more !