Just where the margin's opening shade A vista from the waters made, My bird reposed his silver plume Upon a rich banana's bloom. Oh vision bright! oh spirit fair! What spell, what magic raised her there? 'Twas Nea! slumbering calm and mild, And bloomy as the dimpled child, Whose spirit in elysium keeps Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps.
The broad banana's green embrace Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace; One little beam alone could win The leaves to let it wander in. And, stealing over all her charms, From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, New lustre to each beauty lent,-- Itself all trembling as it went!
Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge Mixt with its shade, like evening's light Just touching on the verge of night. Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, Seemed glowing through the ivory lid, And, as I thought, a lustre threw Upon her lip's reflecting dew,-- Such as a night-lamp, left to shine Alone on some secluded shrine, May shed upon the votive wreath, Which pious hands have hung beneath.
Was ever vision half so sweet! Think, think how quick my heart-pulse beat, As o'er the rustling bank I stole;-- Oh! ye, that know the lover's soul, It is for you alone to guess, That moment's trembling happiness.
[1] The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West Indies.
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 displayed, Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse Should see it grace a lovelier maid.
Look, dearest, 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 enamored nymph embraced-- Look, as she leans, and say in sooth Is not that hand most fondly placed?
Upon his curled head behind It seems in careless play to lie, Yet presses gently, half inclined To bring the truant's lip more nigh.
Oh happy maid! Too happy boy! The one so fond and little 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 coy as she is willing: