THE TABLE OF EMERALD.

"Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved before the flood the secret of alchemy that gives gold at will."

MOORE'S EPICUREAN.

THAT Emerald vast of the Pyramid

Were I where it is laid,

I would ask no king for his weary crown,
As its mystic words were said.

The pomp of wealth, the show of power,
In vain for me would shine,

And nought that brings the mind a care,
Would win bright gold of mine.

Would I feast all day-revel all night-
Laugh with a secret sadness ?

Would I sleep away the breezy morn,
And wake to the goblet's madness?
Would I spend no time and no golden ore
For the wisdom that sages knew?

Would I run to waste with a human mind To its holy trust untrue?

Oh! knew I the depth of that emerald spell,
And had I the gold it brings,

I would never load with a mocking joy
My spirit's mounting wings.

I would bind no wreath to my brow to day

That would leave a stain to-morrow,

Nor drink a draught of joy to-night,

That would change with morn to sorrow.

But, oh, I would burst this chain of care,
And be spirit and fancy-free;

My mind should range where it longs to go
And the limitless wind outflee.

I would place my foot on my heaps of ore

To mount to Wisdom's throne,

And buy, with the wealth of an Indian mine,

To be left, of care, alone!

Ambition! my lip would laugh to scorn
Thy robe and thy gleaming sword!
I would follow sooner a woman's eye,
Or a child's imperfect word;

But come with the glory of human thought,
And the light of the scholar's brow,

And my heart shall be taught forgetfulness,

And alone at thine altar bow.

There was one mild eye-there was one deep toneThey were dear to this heart of mine!

Dearer to me was that mild blue eye

Than the lamp on wisdom's shrine.

My soul brought up from its deepest cell
The sum of its earthly love;

But it could not buy her wing from Heaven,

And she flew to her rest above.

That first deep love I have taken back

In my rayless breast to hide;

With the tear it brought for a burning seal

"Twill there forever bide.

I may stretch on now to another goal,
I may feed my thoughts of flame-
The tie is broken that kept me back,
And my mind speeds on-for fame!

But, alas! I am dreaming as if I knew
The spell of the tablet green!
I forget how like to a broken reed
Is the hope on which I lean.

There is nothing true of my idle dream
But the wreck of my early love,

And my mind is coin'd for my daily bread,
And how can it soar above?

THE END.

Ann Street, June, 1837.

MESSRS. SAUNDERS AND OTLEY,

HAVE NOW READY THE FOLLOWING

IMPORTANT NEW WORKS.

I.

Mrs. Butler's New Work.

THE STAR OF SEVILLE,

GENERAL LAFAYETTE,
Edited by his Family.

This American Edition will include a series of Letters relating to the
Revolutionary War, not inserted in the London and Paris editions.