"Than, when in love's unholier prank,
By moonlight cave or rustic bank,

66

Upon his neck some wood-nymph lies,

Exhaling from her lip and eyes

"The flame and incense of delight,
"To sanctify a dearer rite,

"A mystery, more divinely warm'd
"Than priesthood ever yet perform'd!”

Happy the maid, whom heaven allows
To break for heaven her virgin vows!
Happy the maid!—her robe of shame
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame,
Whose glory, with a lingering trace,
Shines through and deifies her race!

O virgin! what a doom is thine!
To-night, to-night a lip divine*
In every kiss shall stamp on thee
A seal of immortality!

* Fontenelle, in his playful rifacimento of the learned materials of Van-Dale, has related in his own inimitable manner an adventure of this kind which was detected and exposed at Alexandria. See L'Histoire des Oracles, seconde dissertat. chap. vii. Crebillon, too, in one of his most amusing little stories, has made the Génie Mange-Taupes, of the Isle Jonquille, assert this privilege of spiritual beings in a manner very formidable to the husbands of the island. He says, however, "Les maris ont le plaisir de rester toujours dans le doute; en pareil cas, c'est une ressource."

Fly to the cave, Aphelia, fly;
There lose the world, and wed the sky!
There all the boundless rapture steal,

Which gods can give or woman feel!

WOMAN.

AWAY, away,—you're all the same,
A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng!
Oh! by my soul, I burn with shame,

To think I've been your slave so long!

Slow to be warm'd, and quick to rove,

From folly kind, from cunning loath, Too cold for bliss, too weak for love, Yet feigning all that's best in both.

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign,
More joy it gives to woman's breast,
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain,
Than one true manly lover blest!

Away, away-your smile's a curse-
Oh! blot me from the race of men,

Kind pitying heaven! by death, or worse,
Before I love such things again!

BALLAD STANZAS.

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,

And I said, “If there's peace to be found in the world, "A heart that was humble might hope for it here!"

It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around
In silence repos'd the voluptuous bee;

Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound
But the wood-pecker tapping the hollow beech-tree.

And "Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd

"With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, "Who would blush when I prais'd her, and weep when

I blam'd,

"How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!

"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips "In the gush of the fountain how sweet to recline, "And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, “Which had never been sigh'd on by any but mine!

ΤΟ

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ΝΟΣΕΙ ΤΑ ΦΙΛΤΑΤΑ.

Euripides.

1803.

COME, take the harp-'tis vain to muse

Upon the gathering ills we see;
Oh! take the harp, and let me lose
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee!

Sing to me, love!-though death were near Thy song could make my soul forget

Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear,

All may be well, be happy yet!

Once more upon the dear harp lie,

And I will cease to dream of harm,

Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh!