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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 ;
And Love expired on Reason's breast !
While in these arms you lie,
From that beloved eye!
The path where many rove;
Are quite enough for love!
Between your arms and mine?
there's not a lock of jet,
All, all the worthless world !
My only worlds I see;
May frown or smile for me !
Oh happy time! when laws of state,
THE GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM
OF THE BLESSED ISLANDS.
TO HER LOVER.
ήχι τε καλος
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
While thus I lay, in this voluptuous calm,
Soft o'er my brow, which kindled with their sigh),
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
O Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought
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 !