If I were yonder conch of gold, If I were yonder orange-tree, And thou the blossom blooming there Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink, The soft reflection of thine eye. That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, The painted stream my chilly grave O my beloved! where'er I turn, Thy blush on every floweret lies. But then thy breath!—not all the fire I pray thee, on those lips of thine 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, The breath of roses for thine own! 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! THE SNOW-SPIRIT. Tu potes insolitas, Cynthia. ferre nives? Propert. lib. i. eleg. 8. An island of lovelier charms; It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, The tint of your bowers is balm to the eye, But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, And the Snow-Spirit never comes here! The down from his wing is as white as the pearl And it falls on the green earth as melting, my gir. Oh! fly to the clime where he pillows the death Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, How sweet to behold him, when, borne on the gale, He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil No, no, thou wilt see what a moment it lasts, But fly to his region-lay open thy zone, Ένταυθα δε καθωρμισται ἡμιν, και ό, τι μεν όνομα τη νησω, οὐκ οἶδα χρυση δ ̓ ἂν προς γε εμου όνομαζοιτο. Philostrat. Icon. 17, lib. 2. I STOLE along the flowery bank, While many a bending sea-grape* drank That winged me round this fairy shore! 'Twas noon; and every orange bud * The sea-side or mangrove grape, a native of the West Indies. Faint as the lids of maiden eyes Blest be the little pilot dove! He had indeed been sent by love, As fate allows but seldom here; One of those rare and brilliant hours Which, like the aloe's lingering flowers, Just where the margin's opening shade O vision bright ! O spirit fair! What spell, what magic raised her there? 'Twas Nea! slumbering calm and mild, And bloomy as the dimpled child Whose spirit in elysium keeps Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps! The broad banana's green embrace Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace; One little beam alone could win The leaves to let it wander in, And, stealing over all her charms, From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, It glanced around a fiery kiss, All trembling, as it went, with bliss! Her eyelid's black and silken fringe Which pious hands have hung beneath! Was ever witchery half so sweet! A KISS A L'ANTIQUE. BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps, Upon her hand this gem displayed, Nor thought that Time's eternal lapse Should see it grace a lovelier maid. Look, darling, what a sweet design! The more we gaze, it charms the more: Come, closer bring that cheek to mine, And trace with me its beauties o'er. Thou seest, it is a simple youth By some enamoured nymph embracedLook, Nea love! and say in sooth Is not her hand most dearly placed? Upon his curled head behind It seems in careless play to lie, O happy maid! too happy boy! Oh rare indeed, but blissful both! Imagine, love, that I am he, And just as warm as he is chilling; Imagine, too, that thou art she, But quite as cold as she is willing: So may we try the graceful way In which their gentle arms are twined, And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, λιβανοτω εικασεν, ὅτι ἀπολλυμενον ἐυφραίνει. THERE'S not a look, a word of thine Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, There never yet a murmur fell Like something heaven had sung! No; if this slighted heart must see Oh! let it die, remembering thee, TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. FROM BERMUDA. "THE daylight is gone-but, before we depart, One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart, To the kindest, the dearest-oh! judge by the tear, 'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash tree, With a few who could feel and remember like me, Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour Last night, when we came from the calabash tree, |