Fly! my beloved! this island is sweet,

But the Snow-Spirit cannot come here!

Ενταύθα δε καθωρμισται ήμιν. και ό, τι μεν όνομα τη χρυση δ' αν προς γε εμε ονομάζοιτο.

νησω εκ

отба

PHILOSTRAT. Icon. 17. lib. 2.

I STOLE along the flowery bank,

While many a bending sea-grape✶ drank
The sprinkle of the feathery oar
That wing'd me round this fairy shore!

'Twas noon; and every orange bud
Hung languid o'er the crystal flood,
Faint as the lids of maiden eyes
Beneath a lover's burning sighs!
Oh for a Naiad's sparry bower,
To shade me in that glowing hour!

A little dove, of milky hue,
Before me from a plantain flew,
And, light along the water's brim,

I steer'd my gentle bark by him;

* The sea-side or mangrove grape, a native of the West Indies.

For Fancy told me, Love had sent

This snowy bird of blandishment,

To lead me, where my soul should meet

I know not what, but something sweet!

Bless'd be the little pilot dove!

He had indeed been sent by Love,
To guide me to a scene so dear

As Fate allows but seldom here:

One of those rare and brilliant hours,

Which, like the aloe's* lingering flowers, of man

May blossom to the eye

But once in all his weary span !

Just where the margin's opening shade

A vista from the waters made,

My bird reposed his silver plume

Upon a rich banana's bloom.

Oh, vision bright! oh, spirit fair!

What spell, what magic raised her there? 'Twas NEA! slumbering calm and mild, And bloomy as the dimpled child

*The Agave. I know that this is an erroneous idea, but it is quite true enough for poetry. PLATO, I think, allows a poet to be "three removes from truth;" reiTATOS ATO TYS αλήθειας.

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
Lay on her cheek, of vermil tinge,
Like the first ebon cloud that closes
Dark on Evening's Heaven of roses!
Her glances, though in slumber hid,
Seem'd glowing through their ivory lid,
And o'er her lip's reflecting dew
A soft and liquid lustre threw,
Such as, declining dim and faint,
The lamp of some beloved saint
Doth shed upon a flowery wreath,
Which pious hands have hung beneath!

Was ever witchery half so sweet!
Think, think how all my pulses beat,
As o'er the rustling bank I stole—
Oh! you that know the lover's soul,
It is for you to dream the bliss,
The tremblings of an hour like this!

ON THE LOSS OF A LETTER INTENDED

FOR NEA.

Оn! it was fill'd with words of flame,

With all the wishes wild and dear,

Which love may write, but dares not name,
Which woman reads, but must not hear!

Of many a nightly dream it told,

When all that chills the heart by day,
The worldly doubt, the caution cold,
In Fancy's fire dissolve away!

When soul and soul divinely meet,
Free from the senses' guilty shame,
And mingle in a sigh so sweet,

As Virtue's self would blush to blame!

How could he lose such tender words?

Words! that of themselves should spring

TO NEA's ear, like panting birds,

With heart and soul upon their wing!

Oh! fancy what they dared to speak;
Think all a virgin's shame can dread,
Nor pause until thy conscious cheek

Shall burn with thinking all they said!

And I shall feign, shall fancy, too,

Some dear reply thou might'st have given ; Shall make that lip distil its dew

In promise bland and hopes of Heaven!

Shall think it tells of future days,
When the averted cheek will turn,
When eye with eye shall mingle rays,
And lip to lip shall closely burn !—

Ah! if this flattery is not thine,

If colder hope thy answer brings,
I'll wish thy words were lost like mine,
Since I can dream such dearer things!