Then, turning to a purer lore,
We'll cull the sages' heavenly store,
From Science steal her golden clue,
And every mystic path pursue,
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes,
Through labyrinths of wonder flies!

'Tis thus

my

heart shall learn to know The passing world's precarious flight, Where all that meets the morning glow Is changed before the fall of night!*

I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire,

"Swift, swift the tide of being runs,
"And Time, who bids thy flame expire,
"Will also quench yon heaven of suns!"

Oh! then if earth's united power
Can never chain one feathery hour;
If every print we leave to-day
To-morrow's wave shall steal away;

* Ρειν τα όλα ποταμς δίκην, as expressed among the dogmas of HERACLITUS the Ephesian, and with the same image by SENECA, in whom we find a beautiful diffusion of the thought. "Nemo est mane qui fuit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur fluminum more; quidquid vides currit cum tempore. Nihil ex his quæ videmus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor mutari ipsa, mutatus sum," etc.

VOL. II.

8

Who

pauses to inquire of Heaven
Why were the fleeting treasures given,
The sunny days, the shady nights,
And all their brief but dear delights,
Which Heaven has made for man to use,
And man should think it guilt to lose?
Who, that has cull'd a weeping rose,
Will ask it why it breathes and glows,
Unmindful of the blushing ray,

In which it shines its soul

away;

Unmindful of the scented sigh,

On which it dies and loves to die?

Pleasure! thou only good on earth!*

One little hour resign'd to thee— Oh! by my LAIS' lip, 'tis worth The sage's immortality!

Then far be all the wisdom hence,

And all the lore, whose tame control Would wither joy with chill delays!

ARISTIPPUS Considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses.

Alas! the fertile fount of sense,

At which the young, the panting soul
Drinks life and love, too soon decays!

Sweet Lamp! thou wert not form'd to shed
Thy splendour on a lifeless page-
Whate'er my blushing LAIS said

Of thoughful lore and studies sage, 'Twas mockery all-her glance of joy Told me thy dearest, best employ !*

And, soon as night shall close the eye

Of Heaven's young wanderer in the west;

* MAUPERTUIS has been still more explicit than this philosopher, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the sublimest pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man, in his production, he calls him, "une nouvelle créature, qui pourra comprendre les choses les plus sublimes, et ce qui est bien au-dessus, qui pourra goûter les mêmes plaisirs."-See his Vénus Physique. This appears to be one of the efforts at Fontenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the learned President is so well ridiculed in the Akakia of VOLTAIRE.`

MAUPERTUIS may be thought to have borrowed from the ancient ARISTIPPUS that indiscriminate theory of pleasures which he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophie Morale, and for which he was so very justly condemned. ARISTIPPUS, according to LAERTIUS, held μη διαφέρειν τε ήδονην ἡδονης, which irrational sentiment has been adopted by MAUPERTUIS: "Tant qu'on ne considère que l'état présent, tous les plaisirs sont du même genre," etc. etc.

When seers are gazing on the sky,

To find their future orbs of rest;
Then shall I take my trembling way,
Unseen but to those worlds above,
And, led by thy mysterious ray,
Glide to the pillow of my love.

Calm be her sleep, the gentle dear!
Nor let her dream of bliss so near,
Till o'er her cheek she thrilling feel
My sighs of fire in murmurs steal,
And I shall lift the locks that flow
Unbraided o'er her lids of snow,
And softly kiss those sealed eyes,
And wake her into sweet surprise!

Or if she dream, oh! let her dream
Of those delights we both have known,
And felt so truly, that they seem

Form'd to be felt by us alone!

And I shall mark her kindling cheek,
Shall see her bosom warmly move,
And hear her faintly, lowly speak

The murmur'd sounds so dear to love!

Oh! I shall gaze till even the sigh
That wafts her very soul be nigh,

And, when the nymph is all but blest,
Sink in her arms and share the rest!
Sweet LAIS! what an age of bliss

In that one moment waits for me!
Oh sages!—think on joy like this,
And where's your boast of apathy?

TO MRS. BL-H-D.

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.

Τετο δε τι εστι το ποτον; πλάνη, εφη.

Cebetis Tabula.

THEY say that Love had once a book
(The urchin likes to copy you),
Where all who came the pencil took,
And wrote, like us, a line or two.

'Twas Innocence, the maid divine,

Who kept this volume bright and fair, And saw that no unhallow'd line,

Or thought profane, should enter there.