Farewel to Bermuda,* and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade

Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd!
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy home,
Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to say-
Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times,
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes!

* The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen, that, possibly, the discoverer of this "islandof hogs and devils" might have been no ess a personage than the great John Bermudez, who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century), was sent Patriarch of the Latin Church to Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins which he encountered. Travels of the Jesuits, Vol. I. I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch rather too much out of his way.

IF I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
I would not let a foot come near
My land of bliss, my fairy ground!

If I were yonder conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it plac'd,
I would not let an eye behold

The sacred gem my arms embrac❜d!

If I were yonder orange-tree,

And thou the blossom blooming there, I would not yield a breath of thee, To scent the most imploring air!

Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink,
Give not the wave that rosy sigh,
Nor let its burning mirror drink
The soft reflection of thine eye.

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek
Upon the billows pour their beam
So warmly, that, my soul could seek

Its NEA in the painted stream.

The painted stream my chilly grave
And nuptial bed at once may be,
I'll wed thee in that mimic wave,
And die upon the shade of thee!

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending
O'er the waters blue and bright,
Like NEA's silky lashes, lending
Shadow to her eyes of light!

Oh, my belov'd! where'er I turn,
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes,

In every star thy glances burn,

Thy blush on every flow'ret lies.

But then thy breath!—not all the fire,
That lights the lone Semenda's* death

In eastern climes, could e'er respire
An odour like thy dulcet breath!

I

pray thee, on those lips of thine

To wear this rosy leaf for me,

And breathe of something not divine,

Since nothing human breathes of thee!

* Referunt tamen quidam in interiore India avem esse, nomine Semendam &c. Cardan. 10 de Subtilitat. Cæsar Scaliger seems to think Semenda but another name for the Phoenix. Exercitat, 233.

N

All other charms of thine I meet

In nature, but thy sigh alone; Then take, oh! take, though not so sweet, The breath of roses for thine own!

So, while I walk the flowery grove,

The bud that gives, through morning dew, The lustre of the lips I love,

May seem to give their perfume too!

ON

SEEING AN INFANT IN NEA'S ARMS.

THE first ambrosial child of bliss,

That Psyche to her bosom prest Was not a brighter babe than this,

Nor blush'd upon a lovelier breast!
His little snow-white fingers, straying
Along her lip's luxuriant flower,
Look'd like a flight of ring-doves playing,
Silvery, mid a roseate bower!

And when, to shade the playful boy,
Her dark hair fell, in mazes bright,
Oh! 'twas a type of stolen joy;

'Twas love beneath the veil of night! Soft as she smil'd, he smil'd again;

They seem'd so kindred in their charms
That one might think, the babe had then
Just budded in her blooming arms!
He look'd like something form'd of air,
Which she had utter'd in a sigh;
Like some young spirit, resting there,

That late had wander'd from her eye!