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Love told his dream of yester-night,

While Reason talked about the weather ; The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,

And on they took their way together. The boy in many a gambol flew,

While Reason like a Juno stalked, And from her portly figure threw

A lengthened shadow, as she walked. No wonder Love, as on they passed,

Should find that sunny morning chill, For still the shadow Reason cast

Fell on the boy, and cooled him still. In vain he tried his wings to warm,

Or find a pathway not so dim, For still the maid's gigantic form

Would pass between the sun and him! “This must not be," said little Love

“The sun was made for more than you." So, turning through a myrtle grove,

He bid the portly nymph adieu ! Now gaily roves the laughing boy

O’er many a mead, by many a stream; In every breeze inhaling joy,

And drinking bliss in every beam. From all the gardens, all the bowers,

He culled the many sweets they shaded, And ate the fruits and smelled the flowers,

Till taste was gone and odour faded ! But now the sun, in pomp of noon,

Looked blazing o'er the parched plains ; Alas! the boy grew languid soon,

And fever thrilled through all his veins ! The dew forsook his baby brow,

No more with vivid bloom he smiled Oh ! where was tranquil Reason now

To cast her shadow o'er the child ?

Beneath a green and aged palm

His foot at length for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm,

With brow as cool as his was burning!

“Oh! take me to that bosom cold,”

In murmurs at her feet he said ; And Reason oped her garment's fold,

And flung it round his severed head.

He felt her bosom's icy touch,

And soon it lulled his pulse to rest ;
For ah! the chill was quite too much,

And Love expired on Reason's breast !

Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear!

While in these arms you lie,
The world hath not a wish, a fear,
That ought to claim one precious tear

From that beloved eye!
The world !-ah, Fanny ! love must shun

The path where many rove;
One bosom to recline upon,
One heart, to be his only one,

Are quite enough for love!
What can we wish, that is not here

Between your arms and mine?
Is there, on earth, a space so dear
As that within the blessed sphere
Two loving arms entwine?

there's not a lock of jet,
Along your temples curled,
Within whose glossy, tangling net,
My soul doth not, at once, forget

All, all the worthless world !
'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love!

My only worlds I see;
Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below and skies above

May frown or smile for me !

For me,

'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower,
That Love and Learning, many an hour.
In dalliance met, and Learning smileci
With rapture on the playful child,
Who wanton stole, to find his nest
Within a fold of Learning's vest !
There, as the listening statesman hung
In transport on Aspasia's tongue,
The destinies of Athens took
Their colour from Aspasia's look.



Oh happy time! when laws of state,
When all that ruled the country's fate,
Its glory, quiet, or alarms,
Was planned between two snowy arms !
Sweet times ! you could not always last-
And yet, oh ! yet, you are not past ;
Though we have lost the sacred mould
In which their men were cast of old,
Woman, dear woman, still the same,
While lips are balm and looks are flame
While man possesses heart or eyes,
Woman's bright empire never dies !
Fanny, my love, they ne'er shall say
That beauty's charm hath passed away ;
No-give the universe a soul
Attuned to woman's soft control,
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill
To wield a universe at will !




ήχι τε καλος
ΙΠυθαγορης, όσσοι τε χορον στηριξαν έρωτος.
'Απολλων περι Πλωτινου. Oracul. Metric, a Joan

Opsop. collecta.
Vi'as it the moon, or was it morning's ray,
That called thee, dearest, from these arms away?
I lingered still, in all the murmuring rest,
The languor of a soul too richly blest!
Upon my breath the sigh yet faintly hung ;
Thy name yet died in whispers o'er my tongue ;
I heard thy lyre, which thou hadst left behind,
In amorous converse with the breathing wind ;
Quick to my heart I pressed the shell divine,
And, with a lip yet glowing warm from thine,
1 kissed its every chord, while every kiss
Shed o'er the chord some dewy print of bliss.
Then soft to thee I touched the fervid lyre,
Which told such melodies, such notes of fire,
As none but chords, that drank the burning dews

Of kisses dear as ours, could e'er diffuse ! * It was imagined by some of the ancients that there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two floating luminous islands in which the spirits of the blest reside. Accordingly we find that the word 'Nxeavos was sometimes synonymous with ånp, and death was not unfrequently called

the passage of the ocean,"

'Ωκεανοιo πoρoς, or

O love ! how blissful is the bland repose
That soothing follows upon rapture's close,
Like a soft twilight, o'er the mind to shed
Mild melting traces of the transport fled !

While thus I lay, in this voluptuous calm,
A drowsy languor steeped my eyes in balm ;
Upon my lap the lyre in murmurs fell ;
While, faintly wandering o'er its silver shell,
My fingers soon their own sweet requiem played,
And slept in music which themselves had made !
Then, then, my Theon, what a heavenly dream!
I saw two spirits, on the lunar beam,
Two winged boys, descending from above,
And gliding to my bower with looks of love,
Like the young genii who repose their wings
All day in Amatha's luxurious springs,
And rise at midnight from the tepid rill
To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill !

Soft o'er my brow, which kindled with their sigh),
Awhile they played ; then gliding through my eyes,
(Where the bright babies, for a moment, hung,
Like those thy lip hath kissed, thy lyre hath sung,)
To that dim mansion of my breast they stole,
Where, wreathed in blisses, lay my captive soul.
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties that clung
So sweetly round her, and aloft she sprung!
Exulting guides, the little genii flew
Through paths of light, refreshed with starry dew.
And fanned by airs of that ambrosial breath
On which the free soul banquets after death !

Thou know'st, my love, beyond our clouded skies, As bards have dreamed, the spirits' kingdom lies. Through that fair clime a sea of ether rolls, Gemmed with bright islands, where the hallowed souls Whom life hath wearied in its race of hours Repose for ever in unfading bowers ! That very orb whose solitary light So often guides thee to my arms at night Is no chill planet, but an isle of love, Floating in splendour through those seas above! Thither, I thought, we winged our airy way, Mild o'er its valleys streamed a silvery day, While, all around, on lily beds of rest, Reclined the spirits of the immortal blest! Oh! there I met those few congenial maids Whom love hath warmed in philosophic shades. There still Leontium, on her sage's breast, Found lore and love, was tutored and caressed; And there the twine of Pythia's gentle arms Repaid the zeal which deified her charms !

The Attic Master in Aspasia's eyes
Forgot the toil of less endearing ties;
While fair Theano, innocently fair,
Played with the ringlets of her Samian's hair,
Who, fixed by love, at length was all her own,
And passed his spirit through her lips alone!

O Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought
Of mystic Numbers so divinely wrought,
The One that's formed of Two who dearly love
Is the best number heaven can boast above!

But think, my Theon, how this soul was thrilled, When near a fount, which o'er the vale distilled, My fancy's eye beheld a form recline, Of lunar race, but so resembling thine That oh !—'twas but fidelity in me To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee! No aid of words the unbodied soul requires To waft a wish or embassy desires ; But, by a throb to spirits only given, By a mute impulse only felt in heaven, Swister than meteor shaft through summer skies, From soul to soul the glanced idea flies !

We met—like thee the youthful vision smiled! But not like thee, when, passionately wild, Thou wakest the slumbering blushes of my cheek, By looking things thyself would blush to speak! No! 'twas the tender, intellectual smile, Flushed with the past, and yet serene the while, Of that delicious hour when, glowing yet, Thou yield'st to nature with a fond regret, And thy soul, waking from its wildered dream, Lights in thine eye a mellower, chaster beam!

O my beloved ! how divinely sweet Is the pure joy when kindred spirits meet! The Elean gol, whose faithful waters flow, With love their only light, through caves below: Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, And festal rings, with which Olympic maids Have decked their billow, as an offering meet To pour at Arethusa's crystal seetThink, when he mingles with his fountain-bride, What perfect rapture thrills the blended tide! Each melts in each, till one pervading kiss Confound their currents in a sea of bliss! Twas thus

But, Theon, 'tis a weary theme, And thou delightest not in my lingering cream. Oh! that our lips were at this moment near, And I would kiss thee into patience, dear !

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