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ELIEVE me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland
Floated our bark to this enchanted land,—
These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown,
Like studs of emerald o'er a silver zone,—

Not all the charm that ethnic fancy gave

To blessed arbours o'er the western wave,

Could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime,
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime.

Bright rose the morning, 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 whisp'ring wind,

Through plantain shades, that round, like awnings, twined
And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails,
Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales;
While, far reflected o'er the wave serene,
Each wooded island shed so soft a green
That the enamour'd keel, with whisp'ring play,
Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way.

Never did weary bark more gladly glide,
Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide!
Along the margin, many a shining dome,
White as the palace of a Lapland gnome,
Brighten'd the wave;-in every myrtle grove
Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love,
Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade;
And, while the foliage interposing play'd,

Lending the scene an ever-changing grace,
Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace
The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch,
And dream of temples, till her kindling torch
Lighted me back to all the glorious days
Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount,
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount.


LUMBER, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st
My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st."
Thus sung I to a maiden,

Who slept one summer's day,

And, like a flower o'erladen

With too much sunshine, lay.

Slumber, oh slumber, &c.

"Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks ; If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks." Thus sing I, while, awaking,

She murmurs words that seem

As if her lips were taking

Farewell of some sweet dream.

Breathe not, oh breathe not, &e.

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PHEN twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love,

I watch the star, whose beam so oft

Has lighted me to thee, love.

And thou too, on that orb so dear,

Dost often gaze at even,

And think, though lost for ever here,

Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flow'r I see, love,

But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy that's gone with thee, love.
And still I wish that hour was near,

When, friends and foes forgiven,

The pains, the ills we've wept through here, May turn to smiles in heaven.


H! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,

How oft I dream of thee,

And of those days when, by thy shore,
I wander'd young and free!
Full many a path I've tried, since then,
Through Pleasure's flowery maze,
But ne'er could find the bliss again
I felt in those sweet days.

How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs

At sunny morn I've stood,
With heart as bounding as the skiffs

That danced along thy flood!

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