Serener the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd,
And warmer the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd!
Not the valleys Heræan (though water'd by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,*
Where the song of the shepherd, primæval and wild,
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child)
Could display such a bloom of delight, as was given
By the magic of love to this miniature heaven!

Oh magic of love! unembellished by you, Has the garden a blush or the herbage a hue ?

The plan of Bishop Berkely for a college at Bermuda, where American savages might be converted and educated, though concurred in by the government of the day, was a wild and useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was governor of the island some years since, proposed, if I mistake not, the establishment of a marine academy for the instruction of those children of WestIndians, who might be intended for any nautical employment. This was a more rational idea, and for something of this nature the island is admirably calculated. But the plan should be much more extensive, and embrace a general system of education; which would entirely remove the alternative, in which the colonists are involved at present, of either sending their sons to England for instruction, or entrusting them to colleges in the States of America, where ideas by no means favourable to Great Britain, and sometimes indeed hostile to the security of governments in general, are very sedulously inculcated.

* Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the nymphs. See the lively description of these mountains in Diodorus Siculus, Lib. iv. Ηραία γαρ ορη κατα την Σικελίαν ησιν, ο φασι καλλεί.

X. T. A.

Or blooms there a prospect in nature or art,
Like the vista that shines through the eye to the heart?

Alas! that a vision so happy should fade!

That, when morning around me in brilliancy play'd, The rose and the stream I had thought of at night Should still be before me, unfadingly bright;

While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over the

stream,

And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream!

But see, through the harbour, in floating array, The bark that must carry these pages away,* Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel behind! What billows, what gales is she fated to prove, Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love! Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be, And the sound of those gales would be music to me! Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew, Not the silvery lapse of the summer-eve dew

Were as sweet as the breeze, or as bright as the foam Of the wave, that would carry your wanderer home!

* A ship ready to sail for England.

LOVE AND REASON.

"Quand l'homme commence à raisonner, il cesse de sentir."

J. J. ROUSSEAU.'

"TWAS in the Summer time, so sweet,

When hearts and flowers are both in season,
That-who, of all the world, should meet,
One early dawn, but Love and Reason?

Love told his dream of yester-night,

While Reason talk'd 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 stalk'd,

And from her portly figure threw
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd.

* Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes de la Nature.

No wonder Love, as on they past,
Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast

Fell on the boy, and cool'd 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 bade 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 cull'd the many sweets they shaded, And ate the fruits and smell'd the flowers, Till taste was gone and odour faded!

But now the sun, in pomp of noon, Look'd blazing o'er the parched plains; Alas! the boy grew languid soon,

And fever thrill'd through all his veins!

The dew forsook his baby brow,

No more with vivid bloom he smil'dOh! 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 op'd her garment's fold,
And flung it round his fever'd head.

He felt her bosom's icy touch,

And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest ; For ah! the chill was quite too much,

And Love expir'd on Reason's breast!