The fainting breeze of morning fails,
The drowsy boat moves slowly past,
And I can almost touch its sails

That languish idly round the mast.

The sun has now profusely given
The flashes of a noontide heaven,
And, as the wave reflects his beams,
Another heaven its surface seems!
Blue light and clouds of silvery tears
So pictur'd o'er the waters lie,
That every languid bark appears
To float along a burning sky!

Oh! for the boat the angel gave*
To him, who in his heaven-ward flight,
Sail'd, o'er the sun's ætherial wave,

To planet-isles of odorous light!

sity, of course, for heaving the lead, and the negro pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, takes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors.

† In Kircher's "Extatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, the genius of the world, gives Theodidactus a boat of asbestos, with which he embarks into the regions of the sun. " Vides (says Cosmiel) hanc asbestinam naviculam commoditati tuæ præparatam.” Itinerar. 1, Dial. 1, cap. 5. There are some very strange fancies in this work of Kircher.

Sweet Venus, what a clime he found
Within thy orb's ambrosial round!*
There spring the breezes, rich and warm,
That pant around thy twilight car:
There angels dwell, so pure of form,
That each appears a living star!†

These are the sprites, O radiant queen! Thou send'st so often to the bed . Of her I love, with spell unseen,

Thy planet's bright'ning balm to shed; To make the eye's enchantment clearer, To give the cheek one rose-bud more, And bid that flushing lip be dearer,

Which had been, oh! too dear before!

But, whither means the muse to roam? 'Tis time to call the wanderer home:

*When the Genius of the World and his fellow-traveller arrive at the planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness, full of odours and intelligences, where angels preside, who shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth; such being, according to astrologers, the "vis influxiva" of Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks" Whether baptism may be performed with the waters of. Venus ?"" An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui possit? to which the Genius answers, "Certainly."

† This idea is Father Kircher's. “ Tot animatos soles dixisses.” Itinerar. 1, Dial. 1, Cap. 5.

Who could have ever thought to search her
Up in the clouds with Father Kircher ?
So, health and love to all your mansion!
Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in,
The flow of heart, the soul's expansion,

Mirth and song your board illumine!
Fare you well-remember too,

When cups are flowing to the brim, That here is one who drinks to you, And oh!-as warmly drink to him.

POSTSCRIPT.

When next you see the black-ey'd CATY,

The loving, languid girl of Hayti,*
Whose finger so expertly plays

Amid the ribbon's silken maze,
Just like Aurora, when she ties
A rainbow round the morning skies!
Say, that I hope, when Winter's o'er,
On Norfolk's bank again to rove,
And then shall search the ribbon-store

For some of CATY'S softest love.

* Among the West-Indian French at Norfolk, there are some very interesting Saint-Domingo girls, who in the day sell millinery, &c. and at night assemble in little cotillon parties, where they dance away the remembrance of their unfortunate country, and forget the miseries which "Les amis des noirs" brought upon them.

I

I should not like the gloss were past,
Yet want it not entirely new ;
But bright and strong enough to last
About-suppose a week or two.
However frail, however light,

'Twill do, at least, to wear at night: And so you'll tell our black-ey'd CATY, The loving, languid girl of Hayti!

THE

WEDDING RING.

ΤΟ

***** *******

1801.

No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring;

Oh! think how many a future year,

Of placid smile and downy wing,
May sleep within its holy sphere!

Do not disturb their tranquil dream,
Though love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd,
Yet heav'n will send a soothing beam,
To bless the bond itself hath form'd.

But then, that eye, that burning eye!
Oh! it doth ask, with magic power,
If heaven can ever bless the tie,

Where love inwreathes no genial flower