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A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,

Are gone. Around me are the stars and waters-
Worlds mirror'd in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Softened with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces,
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoils of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed
Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,

Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle: nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial wish the night,
Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.
The tinklings of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,
Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,
So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice,
To let in love through music, makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight;--the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle

Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse;

Some dusky shadow chequering the Rialto;
Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire,
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city-
How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm!
I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away
Those horrid bodements which, amidst the throng,
I could not dissipate: and with the blessing
Of thy benign and quiet influence,

Now will I to my couch, although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this.

LOVE.

Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,

To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But Heaven itself descends in love;
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray of him who formed the whole;
A glory circling round the soul!

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Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours

Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah! why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh?

As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,

And place them on their breast-but place to dieThus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

SYMPTOMS OF LOVE.

A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind
Of gentle feminine delight, and shown
More in the eyelids than the eyes, resigned

Rather to hide what pleases most unknown,
Are the best tokens (to a modest mind)

Of love, when seated on his loveliest throne,
A sincere woman's breast,-for over warm
Or over cold annihilates the charm.

FIRST LOVE.

'Tis sweet to hear

At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier,

By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear;

'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky; 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark

Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,

Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words;
Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes
In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth
Purple and gushing; sweet are our escapes
From civic revelry to rural mirth;

Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps;

Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth;

Sweet is revenge-especially to women;
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen ;
Sweet is the legacy; and passing sweet

The unexpected death of some old lady
Or gentleman of seventy years complete,
Who've made "us youth" wait too-too long already
For an estate, or cash, or country-seat,

Still breaking, but with stamina so steady,
That all the Israelites are fit to mob its
Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits.

'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels
By blood or ink; 'tis sweet to put an end
To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
Particularly with a tiresome friend;

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ;

Dear is the helpless creature we defend

Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Is first and passionate love-it stands alone,
Like Adam's recollection of his fall;

The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd-all's And life yields nothing further to recall

Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

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Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven.

MOONLIGHT FAVOURABLE TO LOVE.

There is a dangerous silence in that hour,

A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul

To open all itself, without the power

Of calling wholly back its self-control;

The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower,
Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole,
Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws
A loving languor, which is not repose.

MANFRED'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
Glorious orb ! the idol

Of early nature and the vigorous race

Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex

More beautiful than they, which did draw down
The erring spirits who can ne'er return.—
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere
The mystery of thy making was revealed!
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,

Which gladdened, on their mountain tops, the heart
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they poured
Themselves in orisons! Thou material God!
And representative of the Unknown-

Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief star!
Centre of many stars! which makest our earth
Endurable, and temperest the hues

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays !
Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,
And those who dwell in them! for near or far,
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee,

Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise,
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance
Of love and wonder was for thee, then take
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:

I follow.

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