I FOUND her not-the chamber seem'd
Like some divinely haunted place,
Where fairy forms had lately beam'd,
And left behind their odorous trace!

It felt as if her lips had shed
A sigh around her, ere she fled,
Which hung, as on a melting lute,
When all the silver chords are mute,
There lingers still a trembling breath
After the note's luxurious death,
A shade of song, a spirit air

Of melodies which had been there!

I saw the web, which, all the day,
Had floated o'er her cheek of rose;
I saw the couch, where late she lay
In languor of divine repose!

And I could trace the hallow'd print
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm
As if 'twere done in rapture's mint,

And Love himself had stamp'd the form!

Oh, NEA! NEA! where wert thou?
In pity fly not thus from me;
Thou art my life, my essence now,
And my soul dies of wanting thee!

A KISS A L'ANTIQUE.

BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem
Within this simple ring of gold;
'Tis hallow'd by the touch of them
Who lived in classic hours of old.

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps,

Upon her hand this gem display'd, Nor thought that time's eternal lapse Should see it grace a lovelier maid!

Look, darling, what a sweet design!

The more we gaze, it charms the more : Come,-closer bring that cheek to mine, And trace with me its beauties o'er.

Thou seest, it is a simple youth

By some enamour'd nymph embraced—

Look, NEA, love! and say, in sooth,
Is not her hand most dearly placed?
Upon his curled head behind

It seems in careless play to lie, *
Yet presses gently, half inclined
To bring his lip of nectar nigh!
Oh happy maid! too happy boy!

The one so fond and faintly loath, The other yielding slow to joy—

Oh, rare indeed, but blissful both! Imagine, love, that I am he,

And just as warm as he is chilling ; Imagine too that thou art she,

But quite as cold as she is willing:

So may we try the graceful way

In which their gentle arms are twined, And thus, like her, my hand I lay

Upon thy wreathed hair behind :

* Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and Psyche at Florence, in which the position of Pysche's hand is finely expressive of affection. See the Museum Florentinum, tom. ii. tab. 43. 44. I know of very few subjects in which poetry could be more interestingly employed, than in illustrating some of the ancient statues and gems.

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet,
As slow to mine thy head I move;
And thus our lips together meet,
And—thus I kiss thee-oh, my love!

λιβανοτω εικασεν, ότι απολλυμένον ευφραίνει. ARISTOT. Rhetor. lib. iii. cap. 4.

THERE's not a look, a word of thine

My soul hath e'er forgot;

Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,

Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,
Which I remember not!

There never yet a murmur fell
From that beguiling tongue,
Which did not, with a lingering spell,
Upon my charmed senses dwell,
Like something Heaven had sung

Ah! that I could, at once, forget
All, all that haunts me so-
And yet, thou witching girl !—and yet,

To die were sweeter, than to let

The loved remembrance go!

No, if this slighted heart must see Its faithful pulse decay,

Oh! let it die, remembering thee, And, like the burnt aroma, be Consumed in sweets away!