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(As lovers steal to bliss)
As though hey did not kiss!
The silent sea before us,
No eye but N ture's o'er us !
All that we wished and thought ;
But all that passion ought !
Before us faintly gleamed ;
Good heaven ! how sweet it seemeu !
Could tangle me or you in! Sweet Nea ! let us roam no more Along that wild and lonely shore;
Such walks will be our ruin !
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, When but to look was bliss too much,
Too rare for all but heaven and me! V'ith smiling eyes, that little thought
How fatal were the beams they threw, My trembling hands you lightly caught,
And round me, like a spirit, flew. Weedless of all, I wildly turned,
My soul forgot-nor oh ! condemn That when such eyes before me burned,
My soul forgot all eyes but them! I dared to speak in sobs of bliss,
Rapture of every thought bereft nie; I would have clasped you--oh even this!
But, with a bound, you blushing left me. Forget, forget that night's offence,
Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ; 'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and sense
'Twas all the best and worst of man ! That moment, did the mingled eyes
Of heaven and earth my madness vieiv, I should have seen, through earth and skies,
But you alone, but only you ! Did not a frown from you reprove,
Myriads of eyes to me were none; I should have-oh, my only love !
Mly life I what should not have done?
A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. I just had turned the classic page,
And traced that happy period over When love could warm the proudest sage,
And wisdom grace the tenderest lover ! Before I laid me down to sleep,
Upon the bank awhile I stood,
Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
Were lighted by a Grecian sky-
That yet was warm with Sappho's sigla !
And now, the downy hand of rest
To polish virtue's native brightness,
Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness *
So common in the climes of Greece,
And all is moonshine, balm, and peace !
And all was formed to soothe or move,
To make the coldest learn to love !
To lead us through enchanted ground.
Of love or luxury bloomed around !
Through which the soul is doomed to roald
And gone to seek its heavenly home!
Like any blooming soul of bliss
Through mild and shadowy light like this!
Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever lived in Teian song,
Or wantoned in Milesian story!
Shedding the flowery wines of Crete,
The onyx shone beneath their feet !
Entwined by snakes of burnished gold,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold,
The spell that so divinely bound me?
With thee my own and heaven around me!
Well-peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
My land of bliss, my fairy ground !
If I were yonder conch 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 strean.. 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
()'er the waters blue and bright, Like Nea's silky lashes, lending
Shadow to her eyes of light! O my beloved ! where'er I turn,
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes, In every star thy glances burn,
Thy blush on every floweret 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!
To wear this rosy leaf for me,
Since nothing human breathes of thee!
In nature, but thy sigh alone;
The breath of roses for thine own!
The bud that gives, through morning dew, The lustre of the lips I love,
May seem to give their perfume too!