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النشر الإلكتروني

The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering 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
Formed by the wondrous Alchemy of Heaven !
No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer Maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in 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 rapturous falls
Shall wake the softened 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 odorous 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 soothe 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 basked 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 tossed by storms along Life's wildering way,


reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove, While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.

Dear native brook ! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly eager in her noon-tide dream !
Where blameless 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 mellowed ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where softened Sorrow smiles within her tears ;
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the 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 saddening with the saddened blaze Mine


the gleam pursues with wistful gaze Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.



S late each flower that sweetest blows

I plucked, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a rose
A sleeping Love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest:
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamped his faery feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed ! he thrilled with deep delight !
Then clapped his wings for joy.
“ And O!” he cried—“ of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find-
I'll fix my empire here."



NE kiss, dear maid, I said and sighd-
Your scorn

the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er the uninjured Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red !

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose ;
O fair! O gracefull bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents; faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered “ No !"
The whisper'd “No!”-how little meant !
Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent !
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.


TUPID, if storying Legends tell aright,



A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd :
With these the magic dews, which Evening brings,
Brush'd from the Idalian Star by faery wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he joined,
Each gentler pleasure of th' unspotted mind-
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness
And Hope, the blameless Parasite of Woe. [glow,
The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise,
The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs ; [Dove
Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' enamoured
Pours the soft murm'ring of responsive love.
The finished work might Envy vainly blame,
And “ Kisses” was the precious compound's name;
With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest,
And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.



ISTER of love-lorn poets, Philomel !

bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of watchmen, Those hoarse, unfeathered nightingales of time! How many

wretched bards address thy name, And her's, the full-orbed queen, that shines above,

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