Gently, as if it fear'd to wake

The slumber of the silent tides! The only envious cloud that lowers,

Hath hung its shade on Pico's height,*

Where dimly, 'mid the dusk, he towers,
And, scowling at this Heaven of light,
Exults to see the infant storm

Cling darkly round his giant form!

Now, could I range those verdant isles
Invisible, at this soft hour,

And see the looks, the melting smiles,
That brighten many an orange bower;
And could I lift each pious veil,

And see the blushing cheek it shades,
Oh! I should have full many a tale,
To tell of young Azorian maids. †

Dear STRANGFORD! at this hour, perhaps,
Some faithful lover (not so blest

* Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which the island derives its name. It is said by some to be as high as the Peak of Teneriffe.

+ I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabitants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. This is an assertion in which even Guthrie may be credited.

As they who in their ladies' laps
May cradle every wish to rest)
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul,
Those madrigals, of breath divine,
Which Camoens' harp from rapture stole
And gave, all glowing warm, to thine!*
Oh! could the lover learn from thee,

And breathe them with thy graceful tone,
Such dear, beguiling minstrelsy

Would make the coldest nymph his own!

But, hark!—the boatswain's pipings tell
'Tis time to bid my dream farewell :
Eight bells:-the middle watch is set;
Good night, my STRANGFORD!—ne'er forget
That far beyond the western sea †
Is one whose heart remembers thee!

* These islands belong to the Portuguese.

+ From Captain Cockburn, who commanded the Phaeton, I received such kind attentions as I must ever remember with gratitude. As some of the journalists have gravely asserted that I went to America to speculate in lands, it may not be impertinent to state, that the object of this voyage across the Atlantic was my appointment to the office of Registrar of the Vice-Admiralty Court of Bermuda.

STANZAS.

Θυμος δε ποτ' εμος

..........

με προσφωνει ταδε·

Γινωσκε τ' ανθρωπεια μη σεβείν αγαν.

ÆSCHYL. Fragment.

A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the west,

The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest,

Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er!

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead,

And the spirit becalm❜d but remember'd their power,

As the billow the force of the gale that was fled!

I thought of the days, when to pleasure alone
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I!

I felt how the pure, intellectual fire
In luxury loses its heavenly ray;

How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire,
The pearl of the soul may be melted away!

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame,
That pleasure no more might its purity dim;
And that sullied but little, or brightly the same,
I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from
him!

The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven
Had already the wreath of eternity shown;
As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven,
My heart had begun to be purely its own!

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky
Which morning had clouded, was clouded no

more:

"Oh! thus," I exclaim'd,

can a heavenly eye

"Shed light on the soul that was darken'd

before!"

THE TELL-TALE LYRE.

I've heard, there was in ancient days
A Lyre of most melodious spell;
'Twas Heaven to hear its fairy lays,
If half be true that legends tell.

'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, And to their breath it breathed again In such entrancing melodies

As ear had never drunk till then!

Not harmony's serenest touch

So stilly could the notes prolong;
They were not heavenly song so much
As they were dreams of heavenly song!

If sad the heart, whose murmuring air
Along the chords in languor stole,
The soothings it awaken'd there
Were eloquence from pity's soul!

Or if the sigh, serene and light,.

Was but the breath of fancied woes, The string, that felt its airy flight, Soon whisper'd it to kind repose!