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When as she twin'd a laurel round my brow,
And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow,
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
And every nerve confess'd the electric dart.

O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue Eyes !
When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat,
Mocks the tir'd eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on th' accustom'd lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleams of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad,
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clust'ring pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given
Form'd by the wond'rous Alchemy of Heaven!
No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer Maid e'er heav'd the blossom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting her eye;

Love lights her smile—in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips,
She speaks! and hark that passion warbled song-
Still Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapt'rous falls,
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's Halls !

O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God !
A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem
To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam ;
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose od 'rous boughs
My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When Twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast !
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream, by night,
To sooth my Love with shadows of delight:-
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes !

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare--
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep:-
So tost by storms along Life's wild'ring way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove
While hope with kisses nurs'd the infant Love.
Dear native brook ! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek!

Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Star'd wildly-eager in her noontide dream,
Where blamelese Pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts ! where Virtue still is gay :
Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray;
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears :
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears;
And Mem'ry, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy !
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill th' attuned heart-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wing your vales among.

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and sad'ning with the sadden'd blaze
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze.
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.

IN THE MANNER OF SPENCER.

O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree,
I would, that from the pinions of thy Dove
One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be.

For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,
Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light,
But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant

Wight!
Last night as I my weary head did pillow
With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engross'd,
Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow,
As tho' my breast entomb'd a pining ghost.
“From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal

boast,
Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way; .
But leave me with the matin hour, at most !
As night-clos'd flowret to the orient ray,
My sad hart will expand, when I the Maid survey."

But Love, who“ heard the silence of my thought,"
Contriv'd a too successful wile, I ween:
And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught-
“ Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen ;
To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!”
He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
The Morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When as I 'gan uplift my drowsy head-
“ Now, Bard ! I'll work thee woe!” the laughing Elfin

said.
Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing
Was flutt'ring now, as quickly to depart;
When twang’d an arrow from Love's mystic string,
With pathless wound it pierc'd him to the heart.
Was there some Magic in the Elfin's dart ?
Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ?
For strait so fair a Form did upwards start

(No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor mov'd from his sweet

trance!

My Sara came, with gentlest look divine ;
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!
Whisp’ring we went, and Love was all our theme-
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,
He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide,
That I the living Image of my dream
Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh’d-
“O! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide!".

THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS.

CUPID, if storying * Legends tell aright,
Once fram’d a rich elixir of delight.
A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd .

* " Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem

Basia lascivâ Cypria Diva mana
Ambrosiæ succos occultâ temperat arte,

Fragransque infuso nectare tingit opus.
Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim

Non impune favis surripuisset Amor.
Decussos violæ foliis admiscet odores

Et spolia æstivis plurima rapta rosis.
Addit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores,

Et quot Acidalius guadia Cestus habet.
Ex his composuit Dea basia; et omnia libans
Invenias nitidæ sparsa per ora Cloës ”

Curm. Quad. Vol. II.

H

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