And, many an hour beguiled by pleasure,

And many an hour of sorrow numbering, I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure

I left within thy bosom slumbering.

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it,

Haply, it yet a throb may giveYel no-perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it,

Oh, Cara !- does the infant live?

And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
To have you for ever invisibly nigh,
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
'Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care,
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air,
And turn with disqust from the clamorous crew,
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.

TO CARA, ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY. Woen midnight came to close the year,

We sigh to think it thus should take The hours it gave us—hours as dear

As sympathy and love could make Their blessed moments! every sun Saw us, my love, more closely one!

But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh

Which came another year to shed, The smile we caught from eye to eye

Told us those moments were not fled; Oh no!--we felt, some future sun Should see us still more closely one!

Oh! come and be near me,

for ever be mine, We shall hold in the air a communion divine, As sweet as, of old, was imagined to dwell In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell. And oft, at those lingering moments of night, When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is light, You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, Such as angel to angel might whisper above! Oh spirit!-and then, could you borrow the tone Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known, The voice of the one upon earth, who has twined

With her essence for ever my heart and my mind! | Though lonely and far from the light of lier smile, And exile and weary and hopeless the while, Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear, I will think at that moment my Cara is near, That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak, And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek, And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by, For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh! Sweet spirit! if such be your magical power, It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour; And let Fortune's realities frown as they will, Hope, Fancy, and Cara may smile for me still!

may we ever, side

side, From happy years to happier glide; And still, my Cara, may the sigh

We give to hours that vanish o'er us, Be follow'd by the smiling eye That Hope shall shed on scenes before us.



Where is now the smile that lighten'd

Every hero's couch of rest? Where is now the hope that brighten'd

Honour's eye and Pity's breast? Have we lost the wreath we braided

For our weary warrior men ? Is the faithless olive faded ?

Must the bay be pluck'd again?

Taey try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
That you are not a daughter of ether and light,
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms;
That, in short, you ’re a woman ; your lip and your breast
As mortal as ever were tasted or press'd!
But I will not believe them-no, Science! to you
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu :
Still flying from Nature to study her laws,
And dulling delight by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior, for mortals below,
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know.
Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet!
How rays are confused, or how particles fly
Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh!
Is there one, who but once would not rather have

known it,
Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it?
No, no-but for you, my invisible love,
I will swear you are one of those spirits that rove
By the bank where at twilight the poet reclines,
When the star of the west on his solitude shines,
And the magical fingers of Fancy have hung
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue!
Oh! whisper him then, 't is retirement alone
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone;
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between,
His song to the world let him utter unseen,

Passing hour of sunny weather,

Lovely, in your light awhile, Peace and Glory, wed together,

Wander'd through the blessed isle. And the


of Peace would glisten, Dewy as a morning sun, When the timid maid would listen

To the deeds her chief had done.

Is the hour of dalliance over?

Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover

To the desert's still retreat! Fare you well! with sighs we banish

Nymplı so fair and guest so bright; Yet the smile, with which you vanish,

Leaves behind a soothing light!

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La Poésie a ses monstres comme la Nature. -D'ALENBERT.

« Tury made her a grave, too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, ' Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

• And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,

And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footstep of Death is near!,

To be the theme of every hour
The heart devotes to Fancy's power,
When her soft magic fills the mind
With friends and joys we've left behind,
And joys return and friends are near,
And all are welcomed with a tear!
In the mind's purest seat to dwell,
To be remember'd oft and well
By one whose heart, though vain and wild,
By passion led, by youth beguiled,
Can proudly still aspire to know
The feeling soul's divinest glow!
If thus to live in every part
Of a lone weary wanderer’s heart;
If thus to be its sole employ
Can give thee one faint gleam of joy,
Believe it, Mary! oh! believe
A tongue that never can deceive,
When passion doth not first betray
And tinge the thought upon

its way!
In pleasure's dreain or sorrow's hour,
In crowded hall or lonely bower,
The business of my life shall be,
For ever, to remember thee!
And though that heart be dead to mine,
Since love is life and wakes not thine,
I'll take thy image, as the form
Of something I should long to warm,
Which, though it yield no answering thrill,
Is not less dear, is lovely still!
I'll take it, wheresoe'er I stray,
The bright, cold burthen of my way!
To keep this semblance fresh in bloom,
My heart shall be its glowing tomb,
And love shall lend his sweetest care,
With memory to embalm it there!

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds

His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,

And man never trod before!

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,

If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear, and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,

And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried,,from his dream awake, « Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,

And the white canoe of my dear?:

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright

Quick over its surface play'd . Welcome, he said, “ my dear one's light!, And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,

The name of the death-cold maid!

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,

Which carried him off from shore; Far he follow'd the meteor spark, The wind was high and the clouds were dark,

And the boat return'd no more.

Take back the sigh, thy lips of art

In passion's moment breathed to me;
Yet, no-it must not, will not part,
'T is now the life-breath of my heart,

And has become too pure for thee!
Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh

With all the warmth of truth imprest;
Yet, no- the fatal kiss may lie,
Upon thy lip its sweets would die,

Or bloom to make a rival blest!
Take back the vows that, night and day,

My heart received, I thought, from thine;
Yet, no--allow them still to stay,
They might some other heart betray,

As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine!

But oft, from the Indian hunter's

camp, This lover and maid so true Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp,

And paddle their white canoe!

The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it (about seven miles long) is called Drummond's Pond.




The morn was lovely, every wave was still,

When the first perfume of a cedar-hill
Sweetly awaked us, and with smiling charms

The fairy harbour woo'd us to its arms.'

Gently we stole before the languid wind,

Through plantain shades that like an awning twined,

And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails,
Lady, where'er you roam, whatever beam

Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales;
Of bright creation warms your mimic dream;

While far reflected, o'er the wave serene,
Whether you trace the valley's golden meads,

Each wooded island sheds so soft a green,

mazy Linth his lingering current leads;' That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play, Enamour'd catch the mellow hues that sleep,

Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way! At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep;

Never did weary bark more sweetly glide, Or, musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline,

Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide! Mark the last shadow on the holy shrine, 2

Along the margin many a brilliant dome, Where, many a night, the soul of Tell complains White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains;

Brighten'd the wave; in every myrtle grove Oh! lay the pencil for a moment by,

Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love, Turn from the tablet that creative eye,

Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade; And let its splendour, like the morning ray

And, while the foliage interposing play'd, Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay!

Wreathing the structure into various grace,

Fancy would love in many a form to trace Yet, Lady! no--for song so rude as mine,

The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch, 2 Chase not the wonders of your dream divine;

And dream of temples, till her kindling torch Still, radiant eye! upon the tablet dwell;

Lighted me back to all the glorious days Still, rosy finger! weave your pictured spell;

Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze And, while I sing the animated smiles

On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles,

Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. Oh! might the song awake some bright design,

Sweet airy being !3 who, in brighter hours, Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line,

Lived on the perfume of these honey'd bowers, Proud were my soul to see its humble thought

In velvet buds, at evening loved to lie, On painting's mirror so divinely caught,

And win with music every rose's sigh! And wondering Genius, as he lean'd to trace

Though weak the magic of my humble strain The faint conception kindling into grace,

To charm your spirit from its orb again, Might love my numbers for the spark they threw,

Yet, oh! for her, beneath whose smile I sing, And bless the lay that lent a charm to you!

For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing

Were dimm'd or ruffled by a wintry sky, Have you not oft, in nightly vision, stray'd

Could smooth its feather and relume its dye), To the pure isles of ever-blooming shade,

A moment wander from your starry sphere,
Which bards of old, with kindly magic, placed

And if the lime-tree grove that once was dear,
For happy spirits in the Atlantic waste ? 3
There, as eternal gales, with fragrance warm,

The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill,

The sparkling grotto, can delight you still, Breathed from Elysium through each shadowy form

Oh! take their fairest tint, their softest light, In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song,

Weave all their beauty into dreams of night, They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours along!

And, while the lovely artist slumbering lies, Nor yet in song that mortal ear may suit,

Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes; For every spirit was itself a lute,

Borrow for sleep her own creative spells,
Where Virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze,

And brightly show what song but faintly tells!
Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies !
Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland

Nothing can be more romantic than the little barbour of St Floated our bark to this enchanted land,

George. The number of beautiful islets, the singular clearness of

the water, and the animated play of the graceful little boats, gliding These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown,

for ever between the islands, and seeming to sail from one cedarLike studs of emerald o'er a silver zone;

grove into another, form altogether the sweetest miniature of nature Not all the charm that ethnic fancy gave

ibat can be imagined. To blessed arbours o'er the western wave,

: This is an illusion which, to the few who are fanciful enough to

indulge in it, renders tbe scenery of Bermuda particularly interestCould wake a dream more soothing or sublime,

ing. In the sbort but beautiful twilight of their spring ereuings, Of bowers ethereal and the spirit's clime!

the white cottages scattered over the islands, and but partially seen
through the trees that surround them, assume often the appearance

of litle Grecian temples, and fancy may embellisb the poor fisherLady D., I supposed, was at this time still in Switzerland, where man's hut with colomos which the pencil of Claude might imitate. the powers of ber pencil must have been frequently awakened.

I had one favourite object of tbis kind in my walks, which the hos· The chapel of William Tell, on the Lake of Lucerne.

pitality of its owner robbed me of, by asking me to risit bim. lle M. GERELIN says, in bis Monde Primitif, « Lorsque Strabon crot was a plain good man, and received me well and warmly, bat I never que les anciens théologiens et poutes plaçaient les Champs Elysées could turn his bouse into a Grecian temple again. dans les Isles de l'Océan Atlantique, il n'entendit rien à leur doc- 3 Ariel. Among the many charms which Bermada bas for a poetic trine., M. GEBELIN's supposition, 1 bave po doubt, is the more cor- eye, we cannot for an instant forget tbat it is the scene of Siakrect; but that of STRABO is, in the present instance, most to my pur- SPEARE's Tempest, and that here he conjured up the delicate Ariel, pose.

who alone is worth the whole beaven of ancient mythology,

I fly,

The syren,

From the rich sigh

Of the sun's arrow through an evening sky,'

To the faint breath the tuneful osier yields

On Afric's burning fields; ?
Ad barmoniam canere murdum.

Oh! thou shalt own this universe divine
Cicero, de Nat. Deor. lib. 3.

Is mine!

That I respire in all and all in me,
THERE lies a shell beneath the waves

One mighty mingled soul of boundless harmony!
In many a hollow winding wreathed,
Such as of old,

Welcome, welcome, mystic shell!
Echoed the breath that warbling sca-maids breathed;

Many a star has ceased to burn, 3
This magic shell

Many a tear has Saturn's urn
From the white bosom of a syren fell,

O'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept,
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves

Since thy aerial spell
Sicilia's sand of gold.

Hath in the waters slep!!
It bears
Upon its shining side, the mystic notes

With the bright treasure to my choral sky,
Of those entrancing airs'

Where she, who waked its early swell, The Genii of the deep were wont to swell,

with a foot of fire,
When Heaven's eternal orbs their midnight music rolla! Walks o'er the great string of my Orphic Lyre, 5
Oh! seek it, wheresoc'er it floats;

Or guides around the burning pole
And, if the power

The winged chariot of some blissful soul!6

While thou!
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear,
Go, bring the bright shell to my bower,

Oh, son of earth! what dream shall rise for thee;
And I will fold thee in such downy dreams,

Beneath Hispania's sun,

Thou 'lt see a streamlet run,
As lap the spirit of the seventh sphere,
When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his ear!?

Which I have warm'd with dews of melody; 7
And thou shalt own,

Listen!-when the night wind dies
That, through the circle of creation's zone,

Down the still current, like a harp it sighs!
Where matter darkles or where spirit beams;

A liquid chord is every wave that flows,
From the pellucid tides, 3 that whirl

An airy plectrum every breeze that blows ! 8
The planets through their maze of song,

There, by that wondrous stream,
To the small rill, that weeps along

Go, lay thy languid brow,
Murmuring o'er beds of pearl;

'HERACLIDES, upon the allegories of Hower, conjectures that the

idea of the harmony of the spheres originated with this poet, who, . In the Histoire naturelle des Antilles, there is an account of

in representing the solar beams as arrows, supposed them to emit a some carious shells, found at Curaçoa, on the back of which were

peculiar sound in the air. lines, filled with musical characters so distinct and perfect, that the

. In the account of Africa which D'ABLANCOIRT has translated writer assures us a very charming trio was sung from one of them.

there is mention of a tree in that country, whose branches wben «On le nomme musical, parce qu'il porte sur le dos de ligoes doi

shaben by the hand produce very sweet sounds. Le même auteur rà tres pleines de notes, qui ont une espèce de clé pour les mettre en

(ABENZÉGAR) dit, qu'il y a un certain arbre, qui produit des gaules chant, de sorte que l'on dirait qu'il ne manque que la lettre à cette

comme d'o ier, et qa'en les prenant à la main et les branlapt, elles tablature naturelle. Ce curieux gentilhomme (M. du Montel) rap

font une espèce d'harmonie fort agréable, etc. etc.-L'Afriqve de porte qu'il en a vu qui avaient cinq lignes, une clé, et des notes,

MAGNOL qui formaient un accord parfait. Quelqu'un y avait ajouté la lettre,

Alluding to the extinction, or at least the disappearance, of some que la nature avait oubliée, et la faisait chanter en forme de trio,

of those fixed stars, which we are taught to consider as suns, atdont l'air était fort agréable.. Chap. 19, art. 11. The author adds,

tended each by iis sys em. DESCARTES thought that our earth might a poet might imagine that these shells were used by the Syrens at

formerly have been a suo, which became ohscured by a thick inc astatheir concerts.

tion over its surface. This probably suggested the idea of a central hire. * According to Cicero, and his commentator, MacroBits, the lunar

* PORPHYRY says, ibat PYTHAGORAS beld the sea to be a tear. tone is the gravest and faintest on the planetary beptachord. « Quam Triv 92). ATTU Mev exz) El Elvl Canpuov, De Vit. And ob causam summus ille cæli stellifer cursus, cujus conversio est con

some one else, if I mistake pot, bas added the Planet Saturn as the citatior, acuto et excitato movetur sono; gravissimo autem hic lu

source of it. EU PEDOCLES, with similar affectation, called the sea naris atque infimus. Somu. Scip. Because, says MACRONICS, « spin

• tbo sweat of the earth :» lopute TY 75. See RITTERSHONICS rita ut in extremitate languescente jam volvitur, et propter angus

upon PORPHYRY, Num. 4.. tias quibus penultimus orbis arctatur impetu leniore convertitur,»

* The system of the barmonised orbs was styled by the ancients In Soms. Scip. lib. 2, cap. 4. It is not very easy to understand the

the Great Lyre of Orpheus, for which Lucian accounts, y de Aupn ancients in their musical arrangement of the heavenly bodies. See

επταμιτος εουσα την των κινουμενων ας των αρμονίαν PTOLEN. lib. 3.

Leone Hebreo, pursuing the idea of AristOTLE, that the heavens ouvsoziato. x. 7. 8. in Astrolog. are animal, attributes their barmony to perfect and reciprocal love.

6 Διειλε ψυχας ισάριθμους τους αςρους, ενειμε 9' «Non pero manca fra loro il perfetto e reciproo Amore: la causa prin- εκαςην προς εκαςον, και εμβιβασας "ΩΣ ΕΙΣ ΟΧΗΜΑ. cipale, che ne mostra il loro amore, è la lor amicizia armoníaca e la PLATON. T'imirus. concordanza, cbe perpetuamente si trova in loro, Dialog. 2. di 7 This musical river is mentioned in the romance of Achilles Tatius. Amore, p. 58. This - reciproco amore » of Leone is the quotas ETTEL TOTO.NOU ήν δε ακουσαι θελης του ύδατος of the ancient EMPEDOCLES, who seems, in his Love and Hate of the ladouros. The Latin version, iu supplying the hiatus which is Elements, to have given a glimpse of the principles of attraction

in the original, has placed the river in Hispania. .lo Hispania quoand repulsion. See the fragment to which I allude in LAERTIUS,

que fluvius est, quem primo aspectu,. etc, etc. Αλλοτε μεν φιλοτητι, συνερχομεν'. κ. τ. λ. Lib. 8, cap. 2, # These two lines are translated from the words of Achilles Tatius.

Εαν γαρ ολιγος ανεμος εις τας δινας εμπεση, το μεν 3 LETCIPPUs, the atomist, innagined a kind of vortices in the beavens, which he borrowol from Anaxagoras, and possibly suggested bowp w; zopon xpoustal. To do ar veuWC TOU LORTOS to DESCARTES.

πληκτρον γινεται. το ρευμα δε ώς κιθαρα λαλει. Lib. 2.


.נו .ם

And I will send thee such a god like dream,

Such-mortal! mortal! hast thou heard of him,'
Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre, a

Sate on the chill Pangæan mount, 3

And, looking to the orient dim,
Watch'd the first flowing of that sacred fount,

From which his soul had drunk its fire!
Oh! think what visions, in that lonely hour,

Κεινη δ' ηνεμοεσσα και Ατροπος, δια θ' αλιπληξ,

1Stole o'er his musing breast !

θυιης και μαλλον επιδρομος ηπερ ίπποις, ποντο What pious ecstasy 4

ενες ηρικται, ,
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power,

CALLIMACH. Hymn. in Del. v. 11.
Whose seal upon this world imprest 5
The various forms of bright divinity!

Oh what a tempest whirl'd us hither!?

Winds, whose savage breath could wither
Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove,

All the light and languid flowers
'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower, 6

That bloom in Epicurus' bowers!
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber?

Yet think not, George, that Fancy's charm
When, free

Forsook me in this rude alarm.
From every earthly chain,

When close they reefd the timid sail,
From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of pain,

When, every plank complaining loud,
His spirit flew through fields above,

We labour'd in the midnight gale,
Drank at the source of Nature's fontal number. 7

And even our haughty main-mast bow'd ! And saw, in mystic choir, around him move

The muse, in that unlovely hour,
The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy!

Benignly brought her soothing power,
Sach dreams, so heavenly bright,

And, 'midst the war of waves and wind,
I swear

In songs elysian lapp'd my mind!
By the great diadem that twines my hair,

She open'd, with her golden key,
And by the seven gems that sparkle there, &

The casket where my memory lays
Mingling their beams

Those little



poesy, In a soft Iris of barmonious light,

Which time has saved from ancient days !
Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams!

Take one of these, to Lars sung,

I wrote it while my hammock swung,
2 They call his lyre αρχαιοτροπον επταχορδον Ορφεως. As one might write a dissertation
See a curious work by a professor of Greek at Venice, intitled - Heb- Upon « suspended animation!,
domades, sive septem de septenario libri., Lib. 4. cap. 3, p. 177.

ERATOSTHENES, telling the extreme veneration of Orpbeus for Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the Pangaan mountain Sweetly 3 you kiss, my Lais dear! at day-break, and there wait the rising of the sun, that he might be

But, while

you kiss, I feel a tear, ibe first to bail its beams. Etape poperos te ens VUKT05, κατα την εωθινην επι το ορος το καλουμε τον Παγ

* This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at Norfolk.

Ilis talents are worthy of a much higher spbere, but the excellent γαιον, προσεμενε τας ανατολας, ένα ιδη τον Ήλιον | dispositions of the family with whom he resides, and the cordial πρωτον. Κατας ερισμ. 24.

repose he enjoys amongst some of the kindest hearts in the world, • There are some verses of ORPHEUS preserved to us, which con

should be almost enough to atone to him for the worst caprices of tain sublime ideas of the unity and magnificence of the Deity. As

fortune. The consol himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among those which Justis Martyr has produced :

the very few instances of a man, ardently loyal to bis king, and

yet beloved by the Americans. His bouse is the very temple of Ούτος μεν χαλκειον ες ουρανον ιστηρικται hospitality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger who, X puseigo EvL povo, %. T.à. Ad Græc, cohortat. warm from the welcome of such a board, and with the taste of such

Madeira still upon his lips, - col dolce in bocca, could sit down to It is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned amongst the write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a modern philosophist. fabrications wbich were frequent in the early times of Christianity. See the Travels of the DUKX DE LA ROCHEFOCCACLT LIANCOURT, Still it appears doubtful to whom we sbould impute them; they are

vol. 2. too pions for the Pagans, and too poetical for the Fathers.

* We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to Bermuda, • In one of the Hymns of ORPHECS, he attributes a figared seal to during three of which we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. Apollo, with which he imagines that deity to have stamped a variety The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, was built at Bermoda of of forms upon the universe.

cedar, and is acconoted an excellent sea-boat. She was tben com6 Allodiog to the cave near Samos, where Pythagoras devoted the manded by my very regretted friend Captain Compton, who in July greater part of his days and nights meditation and the mysteries last was killed aboard the Lilly, in an action with a French privaof his philosophy. Jamblich, de Vil. This, as HOLSTESTES remarks, feer. Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of was in imitation of the Magi.

ailowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in the ser-
? The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pythagoreons, on wbich vice; so small, crank, aod unmanageable, tbat a well-manned mer-
they solemoly swore, and wbich they called 170729 299200 chantman was at any time a match for her.
quraws, the fountain of perennial nature.. LUCraX has ridi- * This epigram is by Paulus SILENTIABICS, and may be found
caled this religious arithmetic very finely in his Sale of Philosophers. in the Analect of BRONCK, vol. 3, p. 72. But as the reading there

• This diadem is intended to represent the analogy between tbe is somewhat different from wat I have followed in this translation,
notes of music aod ib: prismatic colours. We find in Plutarch a vagae I shall give it as I had it in my memory at the time, and as it is
intimation of this kindred harmony in colours and sounds. Opis in Heinsirs, who, I believe, first produced the epigram. Seo his
TË XX1 270, JET% Çuvas Te XZ1 GOTOS TOV oppovley Poemata.
De Musica.

“Hoυ μεν εστι φιλημα το Λαιδος: ηδυ δε αυτων
CASSIOPORTS, whose idea I may be supposed to have borrowed, says, Ηπιοδινητων δακρυ χεεις βλεφαρων, ,
in a letter upon music to Boetius. Ut diadema oculis, varia luce
gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate soni, blanditor auditui..

Και πολυ κιχλιζουσα σοβεις ευβοστρυχον αιγλης

This is indeed the only tolerable thought in the letter. Lib. 2, Variar. Ημετερα κεφαλην δηρον ερεισαμενη. .

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